Milton  Newmark 


- 

^^^ 

>-  > 


t*g,    SL. 


LALLA    KOOKH; 


ORIENTAL    ROMANCE 


BY 


THOMAS  MOORE. 


NEW  YORK; 
GEO    A.  LEAV1TT,  PUBLISHER. 


ji 


SAMl'EL   ROGERS,  Es:j. 

FKIS      fOE.M      IS      DEDICATED 

BY  IIS  \  ERY  GUATEFt/L  AND 

AFFECTIONATE  FRIEND, 

THOMAS  MOORE. 

Key  19,  \?.ll 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


IK  the  eleventh  year  of  the  reign  of  Aiming, 
tebc,  Abdallah,  King  of  the  Lesser  Bucharia,  a 
lineal  descendant  from  the  Great  Zingis,  hav- 
ing abdicated  the  throne  in  favor  of  his  son,  set 
out  on  a  pilgrimage  to  the  Shrine  of  the  Pro- 
phet :  and  pa-sing  into  India  through  the  de- 
lightful valley  of  Cashmere,  rested  for  a  short 
time  at  Delhi  on  his  way.  He  was  entertained 
by  Aurungzebe  in  a  style  of  magnificent  hospi- 
tality, worthy  alike  of  the  visiter  and  the  host, 
and  was  afterwards  escorted  with  the  same 
splendor  to  Surat,  where  he  embarked  for  Ara- 
bia. During  the  stay  of  the  Royal  Pilgrim  at 
Delhi,  a  marriage  was  agreed  upon  between  the 
Prince,  his  son,  and  the  youngest  daughter  of 
the  Emperor,  LALLA  ROOKH*; — a  Princess  de 
ecribed  by  the  poets  of  her  time,  as  more  beauti- 


*  Tulip  Cheek 


5  LALLA   ROOICH 

ful  than  Lelia,  Shrine,  Dewilde,  or  any  oi" those 
heroines  whose  names  and  loves  embellished  tho 
songs  of  Persia  and  Hindostan.  It  was  intend- 
ed that  the  nuptials  should  be  celebrated  at 
Cashmere;  where  the  young  King,  as  soon  as 
the  cares  of  Empire  would  permit,  was  to  meet, 
for  the  first  time,  his  lovely  bride,  and  after  a 
few  months'  repose  in  that  enchanting  valley, 
conduct  her  over  the  snowy  hills  into  Bucharia. 
The  day  of  LALLA  ROOKH'S  departure  from 
Delhi  was  as  splendid  as  sunshine  and  pageantry 
could  make  it.  The  bazaars  and  baths  were  all 
covered  with  the  richest  tapestry ;  hundreds  oi 
gilded  barges  upon  the  Jumna  floated  with  their 
banners  shining  in  the  water ;  while  through 
the  streets  groups  of  beautiful  children  went 
strewing  the  most  delicious  flowers  around,  as 
in  that  Persian  festival  called  the  Scattering  of 
the  Roses* ;  till  every  part  of  the  city  was  as 
fragrant  as  if  a  caravan  of  musk  from  Khoten- 
had  passed  through  it.  The  Princess,  having 
taken  leave  of  her  kind  father,  who  on  parting 
hung  a  cornelian  of  Yemen  round  her  neck,  on 
which  was  inscribed  a  verse  from  the  Koran, — 
and  having  sent  a  considerable  present  to  the 
Fakirs,  who  kept  up  the  Perpetual  Lamp  ir/  her 
sister's  tomb,  meekly  ascended  the  palankeen 
prepared  for  hei  ;  and,  while  Aurungzebe  stood 


*Gul  Reazo*. 


AN   ORIENTAL   ROMA.NC3.  7 

eo  take  the  last  look  from  his  balcony,  the  pro 
cession  moved  slowy  on  the  road  to  Lahore. 

Seldom  had  the  Eastern  world  seen  a  caval 
cade  so  superb.  From  the  gardens  in  the  su- 
burbs to  the  Imperial  palace,  it  was  one  unbro- 
ken line  of  splendor.  The  gallant  appearance  ol 
the  Rajas  and  Mogul  lorHs,  distinguished  by 
those  insignia  of  the  Emperor's  favor,  the  feath- 
ers of  the  egret  of  Cashmere  in  their  turbans, 
and  the  small  silver-rimmed  kettle-drums  at  the 
bows  of  their  saddles  ; — the  costly  armor  of  their 
cavaliers,  who  vied  on  this  occasion  with  the 
guards  of  the  great  Keder  Kahn,  in  the  bright- 
ness of  their  silver  battle-axes  and  the  massiness 
of  their  maces  of  gold;  the  glittering  of  the  gilt 
pine  apples  on  the  tops  of  the  palankeens  ; — the 
embroidered  trappings  of  the  elephants,  bearing 
on  their  backs  small  turrets,  in  the  shape  of 
little  antique  temples,  within  which  the  ladiea 
of  LALLA  ROOKH  lay,  as  it  were,  enshrined  ;  the 
rose-colored  veils  of  the  Princess's  own  sump- 
tuous litter,  at  the  front  of  which  a  fair  young 
female  slave  sat  fanning  her  through  the  curtains, 
with  feathers  of  the  Argus  pheasant's  wing ;  and 
the  lovely  troop  of  Tartarian  and  Cashmerian 
maids  of  honor,  whom  the  young  King  had  sent 
to  accompany  his  bride,  anJ  who  rode  on  each 
side  of  the  litter,  upon  small  Arabian  horses  ;— • 
nil  was  brilliant,  tastefcl,  and  magnificent,  and 
pleased  even  the  critical  and  fast'dious  FADLA- 


8  LALLA    KOOfc.II. 

D£EN,  Great  N*azir  or  ChamberlaL  of  the  Haram, 
who  was  borne  in  his  palankeen  immediately  af- 
ter the  Princess,  and  considered  himself  not  the 
least  important  personage  of  the  pageant. 

FADLADEEN  was  a  judge  of  every  thing,  from 
the  pencilling  of  a  Circassian's  eye-lids  to  the 
deepest  questions  of  science  and  literature ;  from 
the  mixture  of  a  conserve  of  rose  leaves  to  the 
composition  of  an  epic  poem  ;  and  such  influence 
had  his  opinion  upon  the  various  tastes  of  the 
day,  that  all  the  cooks  and  poets  of  Delhi  stood 
in  awe  of  him.  His  political  conduct  and  opi- 
nions were  founded  upon  that  line  of  Sadi, ' '  Should 
the  Prince  at  noon-day  say,  it  is  night,  declare 
that  you  behold  the  moon  and  stars."  And  hia 
zeal  for  religion,  of  which  Aurungzebe  was  a  mu- 
nificent protector,  was  about  as  disinterested  as 
that  of  the  goldsmith  who  fell  in  love  with  the 
diamond  eyes  of  the  idol  of  Jaghernaut. 

During  the  first  days  of  their  journey,  LALLA 
ROOKH,  who  had  passed  all  her  life  within  the 
shadow  of  the  Royal  Gardens  of  Delhi,  found 
enough  in  the  beauty  of  the  scenery  through 
whicli  they  passed  to  interest  her  mind  and  de- 
light her  imagination  ;  and,  when  at  evening,  or 
in  the  heat  of  the  day,  they  turned  off  from  the 
high  road  to  those  retired  and  romantic  places 
which  had  been  selected  for  her  encampments, 
sometimes  on  the  banks  of  a  small  rivulet,  aa 
clear  as  the  waters  of  the  Lake  of  Pearl ;  some 


AN    ORIENTAL    ROMANCE.  V 

times  under  the  sacred  shades  of  a  banyan  ti  oe, 
from  which  the  view  opened  upon  a  glade  covered 
with  antelopes ;  and  often  in  those  hidden,  em- 
bowered spots,  described  by  one  from  the  Isles  of 
the  West,  as,  "places  of  melancholy,  delight, 
and  safety,  where  all  the  company  around  was 
wild  peacocks  and  turtle-doves;" — she  felt  a 
charm  in  these  scenes,  so  lovely  and  so  new  to 
her,  which,  for  a  time,  made  her  indifferent  to 
every  other  amusement.  But  LALLA  ROOKH 
was  young,  and  the  young  love  variety ;  nor 
could  the  conversation  of  her  ladies  and  the  great 
Chamberlain,  FADLADEEN,  (the  only  persons,  of 
course,  admitted  to  her  pavilion,)  sufficiently  en 
liven  those  many  yicant  hours,  which  were  de- 
voted neither  to  the  pillow  nor  the  palankeen. 
There  was  a  little  Persian  slave  who  sung  sweet- 
ly to  the  Vina,  and  who  now  and  then  lulled  the 
Princess  to  sleep  with  the  ancient  ditties  of  her 
country,  about  the  loves  of  Wamak  and  Ezra, 
the  fair  haired  Zal  and  his  mistress  Rodahver ; 
not  forgetting  the  combat  of  Rustam  with  the 
terrible  White  Demon.  At  other  times  she  was 
amused  by  those  graceful  dancing  girls  of  Delhi, 
who  had  been  permitted  by  the  Bramins  of  the 
Great  Pagoda  to  attend  her,  much  to  the  horror 
of  the  good  Mussulman  FADLADEEN,  who  could 
see  nothing  graceful  or  agreeable  in  idolateis, 
and  to  whom  the  very  tinkling  of  their  golden 
amVets  was  an  abomination. 


*0  LA  .,LA   £<.  OS.H. 

But  these  and  many  other  diversions  were  re« 
peated  till  they  lost  all  their  charm,  and  the  nighti 
and  noon-days  were  beginning  to  move  heavily, 
when  at  length, -R  was  recollected  that,  among 
the  attendants  sent  by  the  bridegroom  was  a 
young  poet  of  Cashmere,  much  celebrated 
throughout  the  Valley  for  his  manner  of  reciting 
the  Stones  of  the  East,  on  whom  his  Royal 
Master  had  conferred  the  privilege  of  being  ad- 
mitted to  the  pavilion  of  the  Princess,  that  ha 
might  help  to  beguile  the  tediousness  of  the  jour- 
ney by  some  of  his  most  agreeable  recitals.  AY 
the  mention  of  a  poet  FADLADEEN  elevated  his 
critical  eye-brows,  and,  having  refreshed  his 
faculties  with  a  dose  of  that  delicious  opium, 
which  is  distilled  from  the  black  poppy  of  the 
Thebais,  gave  orders  for  the  minstrel  to  befortk 
with  introduced  into  the  presence. 

The  Princess,  who  had  once  in  her  life  seen 
a  poet  from  behind  the  screens  of  gauze  in  her 
father's  hall,  and  had  conceived  from  that  speci- 
men no  very  favorable  ideas  of  the  Cast,  expected 
but  little  in  this  new  exhibition  to  interest  her; — 
she  felt  inclined  however  to  alter  her  opinion  on 
the  very  first  appearance  of  FERAMOKZ.  He 
was  a  youth  about  LALLA  ROOKH'S  own  age, 
and  graceful  as  that  idol  of  women,  Crishna,* — 
such  as  he  appears  to  their  young  imaginations, 

*  The  Indian  Apollo. 


AN    CUIENTAL   ROMANCE.  L 

neroic,  beautiful,  breathing  music  frofti  lus  very 
eyes,  and  exalting  the  religion  of  his  worshipper! 
into  love.  His  dress  was  simple,  yet  not  with- 
out some  marks  of  costliness  ;  and  the  Ladies  ol 
the  Princess  were  not  long  in  discovering  that 
the  cloth,  which  encircled  his  high  Tartarian  cup, 
was  of  the  most  delicate  kind  that  the  shawl- 
goats  of  Tibbet  supply.  Here  and  there,  too, 
over  his  vest,  which  was  confined  by  a  flowered 
girdle  of  Kashan,  hung  strings  of  fine  pearl,  dis- 
posed with  an  air  of  studied  negligence  ; — nor 
did  the  exquisite  embroidery  of  his  sandals  es- 
(  ape  the  observation  of  these  fair  critics;  who, 
however  they  might  give  way  to  FADLADEEN 
ipoii  the  unimportant  topics  of  religion  and  gov- 
ernment, had  the"  spirits  of  martyrs  in  every 
hing  relating  to  such  momentuous  matters  as 
,ewels  and  embroidery. 

For  the  purpose  of  relieving  the  pauses  ol 
lecitation  by  music,  the  young  Cashmcrian  held 
in  his  hand  a  kitar ; — such  as,  in  old  times,  the 
Arab  maids  of  the  West  used  to  listen  to  by 
moonlight  in  the  gardens  of  the  Alhambra — and 
having  premised,  with  much  humility,  that  the 
story  he  was  about  to  relate  was  founded  on  the 
adventures  of  that  Veiled  Prophet  of  Khorassan. 
who,  in  the  year  of  the  Hegira  163,  created  such 
alarm  throughout  the  Eastern  empire,  made  as 
obeisance  to  the  Princess,  and  'hus  began  : — 


THE    V  E  I  L  L  D    PROPHET 

OF 

KHORASSAN.* 


IN  that  delightful  Province  of  the  Sun, 
The  first  of  Persian  lands  he  shines  upon, 
Where,  all  the  loveliest  children  of  his  beam, 
Flowrets  and  fruits  blush  over  every  stream, 
And,  fairest  of  all  streams,  the  MURG-A  roves, 
Among  MERou'st  bright  palaces  and  g-oves  ;— 
There,  on  that  throne,  to  which  the  blind  beliel 
Of  millions  rais'd  him,  sat  the  Prophet-Chief, 
The  Great  MOKANNA.     O'er  his  features  hung 
The  Veil,  the  Silver  Veil,  which  he  had  flung 
In  mercy  there,  to  hide  from  mortal  sight 
His  dazzling  brow,  till  man  could  bear  its  light. 
For,  far  less  luminous,  his  votaries  said 
Were  ev'n  the  gleams,  miraculously  shed 
O'er  MoussA'st  cheek,  when  down  the  mount 

he  trod, 
All  glowing  from  the  presence  of  his  God ! 


*  Khorassan  signifies,  in  the  old  Persian  language,  Prc 
:ince,  or  recion  of  the  sun.---<Str  W.  Jonet. 
tOne  of  the  Rojil  Cities  or  Khorassan. 
t  AT oses. 


|4       HIE    VE-ILED    PKOPHET    OF    KIIOUASSAN. 

On  either  side,  with  ready  hearts  and  hands, 
His  chosen  guard  of  bold  Believers  stands  ; 
Young  fire-eyed  disput&nts,   who  deem   theii 

swords, 

On  points  of  faith,  more  eloquent  than  words ; 
And  such  their  zeal,  there's  not  a  yjuth  wi»h 

brand 

Uplifted  there,  but,  at  the  Chiefs  command, 
Would  make  his  own  devoted  heart  its  sheath, 
And  bless  the  lips  tnat  doom'd  so  dear  a  death ! 
In  hatred  to  the  Caliph's  hue  of  night,* 
Their  vesture,  helms  and  all,  is  snowy  white  ; 
Their  weapons  various ; — some,    equipp'd  for 

speed, 

With  javelins  of  the  light  Kathaian  reed  ; 
Or  bows  of  Buffalo  horn,  and  shining  quivers 
Fill'  d  with  the  stemst  that  bloom  on  IRAN  '  s  rivers; 
While  some,  for  war's  more  terrible  attacks, 
Wield  the  huge  mace  and  ponderous  battle-axe ; 
And,  as  they  wave  aloft  in  morning's  beam 
The  milk-white  plumage  of  their  helms,  they 

seem 

Like  a  chenar-tree  grove,  when  Winter  throwa 
O'er  all  its  tufted  heads  his  feathering  snows. 

Between  the  porphyry  pillars,  that  uphold 


*  Black  was  the  color  adopted  by  the  Caliphs  of  th« 
House  of  Abbas,  in  their  garments,  turbans  and  stand 
ards. 

*  Piihula,  used  irciontly  'or  arrows  by  Ihe  Persians, 


Tilt    VEILEE    PROPHET   OF   XIIORASSA.N.        15 

The  rich  morcsque-work  of  the  roof  of  gold, 
A  loll  the  Haram's  curtain' d  galleries  rise, . 
Where,  through  the  silken  net-work,  glancing 

eyes, 

From  time  to  time,  like  sudden  gleams  that  glow 
Through  autumn  clouds,  shine  o'er  the  pomp 

below : — 
What  impious  tongue,  ye  blushing  saints,  would 

dare 
To  hint  that  aught  but  Heav'n  hath  plac'd  you 

there  ? 

Or  that  the  loves  of  this  light  world  could  bind 
In  their  gross  chain,   your   prophet's  soaring 

mind? 
No — wrongful    thought  ! — commissioned    from 

above 

To  people  Eden's  bowers  with  shapes  of  love, 
(Creatures  so  bright,  that  the  same  lips  and  eyes 
They  wear  on  earth  will  serve  in  Paradise) 
There  to  recline  among  Heav'n's  native  maids, 
And  crown  th'  Elect  with  bliss  that  never  fades ! 
Well  hath  the  Prophet- Chief  his  bidding  donp. 
And  every  beauteous  race  beneath  the  sun, 
From  those  who  knesl  at  BRAHMA'S  burning 

founts,* 
To  the  fres'i  nymphs  bounding  o'er  YEMEN'S 

mounts ; 

*  The  burning  fountains  of  Erahrr^  near  Chiitogong, 
esteemed  as  \\o\y.---Turnir. 


16        THE    VEILED    PROPHET    OF    KHORASJAJt 

From  PERSIA'S  eyes  of  full  and  fawn-like  ray.. 
To  the  small,  half-shut  glances  of  KATHAY  ,* 
And  GEORGIA'S  bloom  and  AZAB'S  darker  smiles 
And  the  gold  ringlets  of  the  Western  Isles ; 
All,  all  are  there,- — each  land  its  flower  hath 

given, 
To  form  that  fair  young  Nursery  for  Heaven ! 

But  why  this  pageant  now  ?  this  armed  array  ? 
What  triumph  crowds  the  rich  Divan  to-day 
With  turban'd  heads,  of  every  hue  and  race, 
Bowing  before  that  veil'd  and  awful  face, 
Like  tulb-bcds,  of  different  shapes  and  dyes, 
Bending  beneath  th'  invisible  West- wind's  sighs ! 
What  new-made  mystery  now,  for  Faith  to  sign, 
And  blood  to  seal,  as  genuine  and  divine, — 
What  dazzling  mimicry  of  God's  own  power 
Hath  the  bold  Prophet  plann'd  to  grace  this 

hour? 
Not  such  the  pageant  now,  though  not  less 

proud, — 

Yon  warrior  youth,  advancing  from  the  crowd, 
With  silver  bow,  with  belt  of  broider'd  crape, 
And  fur-bound  bonnet  of  Bucharian  shape, 
So  fiercely  beautiful  in  form  and  eye, 
Like  war's  wild  planet  in  a  summer's  sky  ; — 
That  youth  to-day, — a  proselyte,  worth  noidea 
Of  cooler  spirits,  and  less  practis'd  swords, — 

*  China. 


THE    YEM,Kb    1'KUPLET   Ct    K  flOKASSA.N.       17 

Is  come  to  join,  all  bravery  and  belief, 

The  creed  and  standard  of  tho  heav'n  sent  Chief. 

Though  few  his  years,  the  West  already  knows 
Young  AZIM'S  fame; — beyond  th'    Olympian 

snows, 

Ere  manhood  durken'd  o'er  his  downy  cheek, 
O'erwhelmed  in  fight  and  captive  to  the  Greek,* 
He  linger' d  there  till  peace  dissolv'd  his  chains; 
Oh!  who  could,   cv'n  in  bondage,  tread  the 

plains 

Of  glorious  GREECE,  nor  feel  his  spirit  rise 
Kindling  within  him  ?  who,  with  heart  and  eyes, 
Could  walk  where  liberty  had  been,  nor  see 
The  shining  foot-prints  of  her  Deity, 
Nor  feel  those  god-like  breathings  in  the  air 
Which  mutely  told  her  spirit  had  been  there  ? 
Not  he,  that  youthful  warrior, — no,  too  well 
For  his  soul's  quiet  work'd  the  awakening  spell; 
And  now.  returning  to  his  own  dear  land, 
Full  of  those  dreams  of  good,  that,  vainly  grand, 
Haunt  the  young  heart ; — proud  views  of  human- 
kind, 

Of  men  to  gods  exalted  and  refm'd  ; — 
False  views,  like  that  horizon's  fair  deceit, 
Where  earth  and  heav'n   but  seem,   alas,   to 
meet ! — 


Irrthewnr  of  ll.e  Ofiliph  Mohadi  nsrainst  tl.eEmprew 
oe  :  fo»  »n  ecccuut  of  which,  see  Gibbon,  rcl.  x. 


18         THE    VEILED  PKOrUET  OF  JCHORASSAN. 

Soon  as  he  heard  an  Arm  Divine  was  raisM 
To  right  the  nations,  and  beheld,  emblaz'd 
On  the  white  flag  MOKANNA'S  host  unfurl' d, 
Those  words  of  sunshine,  "Freedom  to  the 

World," 

At  once  his  faith,  his  sword,  his  soul  obey'd 
Th'  inspiring  summons  ;  every  chosen  blade, 
That  fought  beneath  that  banner's  sacred  text, 
Seem'd  doubly  edg'd,  for  this  world,  and  the 

next; 
And  ne'er  did  Faith  with  her  smooth  bandage 

bind 

Eyes  more  devoutly  willing  to  be  blind, 
In  virtue's  cause  ; — 'never  was  soul  inspir'd 
With  livelier  trust  in  what  it  most  desir'd, 
Than  his,  th'  enthusiast  there,  who,  kneeling, 

pale 

With  pious  awe,  before  that  Silver  Veil, 
Believes  the  form,  to  which  he  bends  his  knee, 
Some  pure,  redeeming  angel,  sent  to  free 
This  fetter'd  world  from  every  bond  and  sfoin, 
And  bring  its  primal  glories  back  again ' 

Low  as  young  AZIM  knelt,  that  motley  ciowj 
Of  all  earth's  nations  sunk  the  knee  and  bow'd, 
With  shouts  of  "ALLA!"  echoing  long  and 

loud ; 

While  high  in  air,  above  the  Prophet's  head, 
Hundreds  of  banners,  to  the  sunbeam  spread, 
Wav'd,  like  the  wings  of  the  white  birds  that  fa» 
The  flying  throne  of  star-taught  SOLTMA.S  ' 


THE  VEILED  ?KOPHET  OF  KHORASSAJJ.         19 

Then  thus  he  spoke  . — "  Stranger,  though  new 

the  frame 

Thy  soul  inhabits  now,  I've  track' d  its  flame 
For  many  an  age,*  in  every  chance  and  change 
Of  that  existence,  through  whose  varied  range, 
As  through  a  torch-race,  where,  from  hand  to 

hand, 

The  flying  youths  transmit  their  shining  brand, 
From  frame  to  frame  the  unextinguish'd  soul 
Rapidly  passes,  till  it  reach  the  goal ! 

"  Nor  think  'tis  only  the  gross  Spirits,  warm'd 
With  duskier  fire  and  for  earth's  medium  fonn'd 
That  run  this  course  ; — Beings,  the  most  divine, 
Thus  deign  through  dark  mortality  to  shine. 
Such  was  the  essence  that  in  ADAM  dwelt, 
To  which  all  Heav'n,  except  the  Proud  Ono 

knelt ;  t 

Such  the  refined  intelligence  that  glow'd 
In  MOUSSA'S  frame ; — and,  thence  descending, 

flow'd 
Through  many  a  prophet's  breast ; — in  IssAj 

shone, 

And  in  MOHAMMED  burned;  till,  hastening  on, 
(As  a  bright  liver  that,  from  fall  to  fall 


*  The  transmigration  of  souls  was  one  of  his  doctrine* 
fee  D'llcrbdot. 

•f  "  And  when  we  >-.iid  unto  the  Angeif,  Worrizip  Adam- 
they  all  worshipped  him  excrj  t  EbL.s,  (Lurifor,)  who  r» 
fused. "••-  The  Koran,  clisp.  ii 

Uesus. 


20         THE  VEILED  PROFilET  OF  KIIORASSAJV. 

In  many  a  maze  descending,  bright  through  all, 
Finds  some  fair  region  where,  each  labyrinth  past, 
In  one  full  lake  of  light  it  rests  at  last !) 
That  Holy  Sphit,  settling  calm  and  free 
From  lapse  or  shadow,  centres'all  in  me  '" 

Again,  throughout  th'  assembly  at  these  words, 
Thousands  of  voices  rung ;  the  warrior's  sworda 
Were  pointed  up  to  heav'n;  a  sudden  wind 
In  th'  open  banners  play'd,  and  from  behind 
Those  Persian  hangings,  that  but  ill  could  scrden 
The  Haram's  loveliness,  white  hands  were  seen 
Waving  embroider' d  scarves,  whose  motion  gave 
A  perfume  forth ; — like  those  the  Houris  wave 
When  beckoning  to  their  bowers  th'  Immortal 
Brave. 

i4But  these,"  pursued  the  Chief,  "are  truths 

sublime, 

That  claim  a  holier  mood  and  calmer  time 
Than  earth  allows  us  now  ; — this  sword  musi 

first 

The  darkling  prison-house  of  mankind  burst, 
Ere  Peace  can  visit  them,  or  Truth  let  in 
Her  weakening  day-light  in  a  world  of  sin  ! 
But  then,  celestial  warriors,  then,  when  all 
Earth's  shrines  and  thrones  before  our  banner  fall ; 
When  the  glad  slave  shall  at  these  feet  lay  down 
His  broken  chain,  the  tyrant  lord  his  crown, 
The  priest  his  book,  the  conqueror  his  wreath, 
And  from  the  lips  of  Truth  one  mighty  breath 


1IIE  VEILED  FliurilET  OF  KHC'RASSAN.         21 

Shall,  like  a  whirlwind,  scatter  in  its  breeze 
That  whole  dark  pile  of  human  mockeries; — 
Then  shall  the  reign  of  Mind  commence  on  earth, 
And  starting  fresh  as  from  a  second  birth, 
Man,  in  the  sunshine  of  the  world's  new  spring, 
Shall  walk  transparent,  like  some  holy  thing  ' 
Then,  too,  your  Prophet  from  his  angel  brow 
Shall  cast  the  veil  that  hides  its  splendors  now, 
And  gladden' d  Earth  shall,  through  her  wide 

expanse, 

Bask  in  the  glories  of  this  countenance  ! 
For  thee,  young  warrior,  welcome ! — tnou  has  yet 
Some  task  to  learn,  some  frailties  to  forget, 
Ere   the  white  war-plume  o'er  thy  brow  can 

wave ; — 

But,  once  my  own,  mine  all  till  in  the  grave  !" 
The  pomp  is  at  an  end — the  crowds  are  gone 
Each  ear  and  heart  still  haunted  by  I  he  tone 
Of  that  deep  voice,  which  thrill'd  like  ALLA'S 

OWL; 

The  young  all  dazzled  by  the  plumes  and  lances, 
The  glittering  throne,  and  Haram's  half-caught 

glances ; 

The  old  deep  pondering  on  the  pr-omis'd  reign 
Of  peace  and  truth  ;  and  all  the  female  train 
Ready  to  risk  their  eyes,  could  they  but  gaze 
A  moment  on  that  brow's  miraculous  blaze  ! 

But  there  was  one  among  fhe  chosen  maids 
Who     blushed     behind    the    gallery's    silken 
shades, — 


22         THE  VEILED  PROPIISV  OF  KHORASSAU. 

One  to  whoso  soul  the  pageant  of  to-day 

Has  been  like  death  ; — you  saw  her  pale 

Ye  wondering  sisterhood,  and  heard  the.bursi 

Of  exclamation  from  her  lips,  when  first 

She  saw  that  youth,  too  well,  too  dearly  known 

Silently  kneeling  at  the  Prophet's  throne. 

Ah  ZELICA  !  there  was  a  time,  when  bliss 
Shone  o'er  thy  heart  from  every  look  of  his ; 
When  but  to  sec  him,  hear  him,  breath  the  air 
In  which  he  dwelt,  was  thy  soul's  fondest  prayer ' 
When  round  him  hung  such  a  perpetual  spell, 
Whate'er  he  did,  none  ever  did  so  well. 
Too  happy  days  !  when,  if  he' touch' d  a  flower 
Or  gem  of  thine,  'twas  sacred  from  that  hour  ; 
When  thou  didst  study  him,  till  every  tone, 
And  gesture,  and  dear  look,  became  thy  own, — 
Thy  voice  like  his,  the  changes  of  his  face 
In  thine  reflected  with  still  lovelier  grace, 
Like  echo,  sending  back  sweet  music,  fraught 
With  twice  th'  serial  sweetness  it  had  brought ! 
Yet  now  he  comes — brighter  than  even  he 
E'er  beam'd  before, — but  ah !  not  bright  for  thee; 
No — dread,  unlock' d  for,  like  a  visitant 
From  th'  other  world,  he  comes  as  if  to  haunt 
Thy  guilty  soul  with  dreams  of  lost  delight, 
Long  lost  to  all  but  memory's  aching  sight : — 
Sad  dreams !  as  when  the  Spirit  of  our  Youth 
Returns  in  sleep,  'sparkling  with  all  the  truth 
And  innocence  once  ours,  and  leads  us  back, 
In  mournful  mockery,  o'er  tb.9  shining  tra^k 


THE  VEILED  PROPHET.  OF  MlGKfcSSl  f.         22 

Of  our  young  life,  and  points  cut  every  ray 
Of  hope  and  peace  we've  lost  upon  (he  way  ! 

Once    happy    pair ! — in    prou-1    BOKHARA'S 

groves, 

Who  had  not  heard  of  their  first  youthful  loves  ? 
Born  by  that  ancient  flood,*   which  from  iti 

spring 

In  the  dark  mountains  swiftly  wandering, 
Enrich'd  by  every  pilgrim  brook  that  shines 
With  relics  from  EUCHATUA'S  ruby  mines, 
And  lending  to  the  Caspian  half  its  strength, 
In  the  cold  Lake  of  Eagles  sinks  at  length  ; — 
There,  on  the  banks  of  that  bright  river  born. 
The  flowers,  that  hung  above  its  wave  at  morn, 
Bless'd  iioi  the  waters,  as  they  murmur'd  by 
With  holier  scent  and  lustre,  than  the  sigh 
And  virgin  glance  of  first  affection  cast 
Upon  their  youth's  smooth  current,  as  it  pass'd  ! 
But  war  disturbed  this  vision — far  av.'ay 
From  her  fond  eyes  summon'd  to  join  th'  array 
Of  PERSIA'S  warriors  on  the  hills  of  THRACE, 
The  youth  exchanged  his  sylvan  dwelling  place 
For  the  rude  tent  and  war-field's  deathful  clash  ; 
His  ZELICA'S  sweet  glances  for  the  flash 
Of  Grecian  wild-fire, — and  love's  gentle  chaia* 
For  bleeding  bondage  on  BYZANTIUM'S  plains. 


*  The  Amoo,  which  rises  nenr  the  Delur  Tnjr,  or  Cork 
Mountain?,  nnd  running  nemlj  from  ens!  lo  west,  splits 
Into  two  tranche*,  one  of  which  falls  kilo  the  CaBpina 
see,  snd  the  other  into  Aral  K«hr,  cr  (he  I.ai.e  of  Eagle*. 


84        THE    VEH.EU    PUOPHEI    OF    K.IOKASSA-*. 

Month  after  month,  in  widowhood  of  soul 
Drooping,  the  maiden  saw  two  summers  roll 
Their  suns  away— but,  ah  !  how  cold  and  dim 
Ev'n  summer  suns  when  not  beheld  with  .iim'. 
Jrom  time  to  time,  ill-omen'd  rumors  came, 
(Like  spirit  tongues,  muttering  the  sick  man's 

name, 
Just  ere  he  dies,)— at  leng  ft  those  sounds  oi 

dread 

Fell  withering  on  her  soul,  "  AZIK  is  dead !" 
Of  grief,  beyond  all  other  griefs,  when  fate 
First  leaves  the  young  heart  lone  and  desolate 
In  the  wide  world,  without  that  only  tie 
For  which  it  lov'd  to  live  or  fear'd  to  die  ;— 
Lorn  as  the  hung-up  lute,  that  ne'er  hath  spoken 
Sines  the  day  its  master-chord  was  broken  ! 

Fond  maid,  the  sorrow  of  her  soul  was  such, 
Ev'n  reason  blighted  sunk  beneath  its  touch  ; 
And  though,  ere  long,  her  sanguine  spirit  rose 
Above  the  first  dead  pressure  of  its  woes, 
Though  health  and  bloom  returned,  the  delicate 

chain 

Of  thought,  once  tan^lel,  never  clear'd  again. 
Warm,  lively,  soft  as  in  youth's  happiest  day, 
The  mind  was  still  all  there  but  turned  astray , 
A  wandering  bark,  upon  whose  pathway  shone 
All  stars  of  heav'n  except  the  guiding  one  I 
Again  she  smil'd,  nay,  much  and  brightly  smil'd, 
Bat  'twas  a  lustre,  strange,  unreal,  wild  ; 
A.nd  when  she  sung  to  her  lute's  touching  strain 


THE    VEILE1J    niOPHEl    OF    KHORASSAN.       23 

i'was  like  the  no  es,  half  cxtacy,  naif  pain, 
The  burtjul*  utters,  ere  her  soul  depart, 
When  vanquish' d  by  some  minstrel's  powerful 

art. 
rihe  dies  upon  the  lute  whose  sweetness  broke 

her  heart ! 

Such  was  the  mood  in  which  that  mission  found 
Young  ZELICA, — that  mission,  which  around 
The  Eastern  world,  in  every  region  blest 
With  woman's  smile,  sought  out  its  loveliest, 
To  grace  that  galaxy  of  lips  and  eyes, 
Which  the  Veiled  Prophet  destined  for  the  skies  ! 
And  such  quick  welcome  as  a  spark  receives 
Dropp'd  on  a  bed  of  Autumn's  wither'd  leaves, 
Did  every  tale  of  these  enthusiasts  find 
In  the  wild  maiden's  sorrow-blighted  mind. 
All  fire  at  once  the  madd'ning  zeal  she  caught  ;— 
Elect  of  Paradise !  blest,  rapturous  thought ; 
Predes'.in'd  bride,  in  heaven's  eternal  dome, 
Of  some  brave  youth — ha!  durst  they  say   "  ol 

some?" 

No — of  the  one,  one  only  object  trac'd 
In  her  heart's  core  too  deep  to  be  eflac'd ; 
The  one  whose  memory,  fresh  as  life,  is  twin'd 
With  ev'ry  broken  link  of  her  lost  miixl  ; 
Whose   image    lives,  though  Reason's  eelf  ba 

wreck'd, 
Sale  'mid  the  ruins  of  her  intellect ! 


»1  be  Nightingale 


86      THE-  VKiunD 

Alas,  poor  ZEIYTCA  !  it  needed  all 
The  fantasy,  which  held  thy  mind  in  thrali, 
1'c  see  in  that  gay  Haram's  glowing  maids 
A  sainted  colony  for  Eden's  shades  ; 
Or  dream  that  he,  of  who&«>  unholy  flame 
Thou  wert  too  soon  the  victim, — shining  came. 
From  Paradise,  to  people  its  pure  sphere 
With  souls  like  thine,  which  he  hath  ruin' d  here ' 
No — had  not  Reason's  light  totally  set, 
And  left  thee  dark,  thou  had'st  an  amulet 
fn  the  lov'd  image,  graven  on  thy  heart, 
Which  would  have  sav'd  thee  from  the  tempter's 

art, 

And  kept  alive,  in  all  its  bloom  of  breath, 
That  purity,  whose  fading  is  love's  death  ! — 
But  lost,  inflam'd — a  restless  zeal  took  place 
Of  the  mild  virgin's  still  and  feminine  grace  ; — 
First  of  the  Prophet's  favorites,  proudly  first 
In  zeal  and  charms, — too  well   th'    Impostoi 

nurs'd 

Her  soul's  delirium,  in  whose  a'otive  frame, 
Thus  lighting  up  a  young,  luxuriant  flame, 
He  saw  more  potent  serceries  to  bind 
To  his  dark  yoke  the  spirits  of  mankind, 
More  subtle  chains  than  hell  itself  e'er  twin'd. 
No  art  was  spared,  no  witchery  ; — all  the  skill 
His  demons  taught  him  was  employed  to  fill 
Her  mind  with  gloom  and  extacy  by  turns — 
That  gloom,  through  which  frenzy  but  fierce? 

burns  ; 
That  extacy,  wlvcV  from  ths  depths  of  sadness 


TUE    VEILED    1'ROinc.T   OF    KHURASSA.N.        £7 

Glares  like  the  maniac's  11100:1,  wlioi-e  light  ia 
madness  ! 

'Twas  from  a  brilliant  banquet,   where  the* 

sound 

Of  poesy  and  music  breath' d  around, 
Together  picturing  to  her  mind  and  ear 
The  glories  of  that  heav'n,  her  destin'd  sphere, 
Where  all  was  pure,  where  every  stain  that  lay 
Upon  the  spirit's  light  should  pass  away, 
And  realizing  more  than  youthful  love 
E'er  wish'd  or  dream'd,  she  should  forever  rove 
Through  fields  of  fragrance  by  her  AZIM'S  side, 
His  own  blcas'd,  purified,  eternal  bride  ! — 
'Twas  from  a  scene,  a  witching  trance  like  this, 
He  hurried  her  away,  yet  breathing  bliss, 
To   the  dim  charnel-house ; — through    all    ila 

steams 

Of  damp  and  death,  led  only  by  those  gleams 
Which  foul  corruption  lights,  as  with  design 
To  show  the  gay  and  proud  she  too  can  shine  ! — 
And,  passing  on  through  upright  ranks  of  dead, 
Which  to  the  maiden,  doubly  crazed  by  dread, 
Seem'd   through   the   bluish  death-light  round 

them  cast, 

To  move  their  lips  in  mutteringsas  she  pass'd— • 
There,  in  that  awful  place,  when  each  had  quaffd 
And  pledged  in  silence  such  a  fearful  draught, 
Such, — oh  !  the  look  and  taste  of  that  red  bowl 
Will  haunt  her  till  she  dies — he  bound  her  soul 
By  a  dark  oa%h,  in  heTs  own  language  fram'd 


23       THE    VEILKD    1'KOPHEr    OF    KIJ  DRASSAN. 

Never,  while  earth  his  mystic  presence  claim'd. 
While  the  blue  arch  of  day  hung  o'er  them  both, 
Never,  by  that  all-imprecating  oath, 
In  joy  or  sorrow  from  his  side  to  sever. — 
She  swore,  and  the  wide  charnel  echoed,  "Never, 
never !" 

From  that  dread  hour,  entirely  wildly  given 
To    him    and — she    believ'd,    lost    maid !— *o 

Heaven ; 

Her  brain,  her  heart,  her  passions  all  inflam'd, 
How  proud  she   stood,   when  in   full   Harain 

nam'd 
The  Priestess  of  the  Faith! — how  flash' d  her 

eyes 

With  light,  alas  !  that  was  not  of  the  skies,. 
When  round,  in  trances  only  less  than  hers, 
She  saw  the  Haram  kneel,  her  prostrate  wor- 
shippers : 

Well  might  MOKANNA  think  that  form  alone 
Had  spells  enough  to  make  the  world  his  own : 
Light,  lovely  limbs,  to  which  the  spirit's  play 
Gave  motion,  airy  as  the  dancing  spray, 
When  from  its  stem  the  small  bird  wings  away  ! 
Lips  in  whose  rosy  labyrinth,  when  shesmil'd, 
The  soul  was  lost ;  and  blushes,  swift  and  wild 
As  are  the  momentary  meteors  sent 
Across  th'  uncalm,  but  beauteous  firmament. 
And  then  her  look— oh!  where' 8  the  heart  sa 

wise, 
3ould  unbewildored  rner,t  those  matchless  eyes  I 


THE   VEILED  FUOrilET    OF    KlIOR.iSSAN         25 

Quick,  restless,  strange,  but  exquisite  withal, 
Like  those  of  angels,  just  before  their  fall ; 
Now  shadow' d  with  the  shames  of  earth — LOW 

crost 

By  glimpses  of  the  heaven  her  heart  had  lost ; 
In  every  glance  there  broke  without  control, 
The  flashes  of  a  bright  but  troubled  soul, 
Where  sensibility  still  v/ildly  play'd, 
Like  lightning,  round  the  ruins  it  had  made  ! 

And     such    was    now 'young     ZELICA— so 

chang'd 
From  her  w%o,   some   years  since,  aclightec? 

rang'd 

The  almond  groves,  that  shade  BOKHARA'S  tide, 
All  life  and  bliss,  with  AziAtby  her  side  ! 
So  alter'd  was  she  now,  this  festal  day, 
When,  'mid  the  proud  Divan's  dazzling  array, 
The  vision  of  that  youth,  whom  she  had  lov'd, 
And  wept  as  dead,   before  her  breath'd  and 

mov'd  ; — 
When— bright,  she  thought  as  if  from  Eden' a 

track 

But  half- way  trodden,  he  had  wander' d  back 
Again  to  earth,  glistening  with  Eden's  light — 
Her  beauteous  Azof  shorte  before  her  sight. 

Oh  Reason  !  who  shall  say  what  spells  renew 
When  least  wo  look  for  it,  thy  broken  clew  ! 
Through  what  small  \istas  o'er  the  darken':] 
brain 


SO       THE   VEILED    PROI'IIST   OF    KIIOKASSAJT. 

Thy  intellectual  day-beam  bursts  again  ; 
And  how,  like  forts,  to  which  beleaguered  win 
Unhop'd  for  entrance  through  some  friend  within 
One  clear  idea  waken' d  in  the  breast 
By  memory's  magic  lets  in  all  the.  rest  I 
Would  it  were  thus,  unhappy  girl,  with  thee  ' 
But,  though Jight  came,  it  came  but  partially; 
Enough  to  show  the  maze,  iu  which  thy  sense. 
Wander' d  about, — but  not  to  guide  it  thence  ; 
Enough  to  glimmer  o'er  the  yawning  v/ave. 
But  not  to  point  the  harbor  which  might  save. 
Hours  of  delight  and  peace,  long  left  behind, 
With  that  dear  form  came  rushing  o'er  her  mind  ; 
But  oh  !  to  think  how  deep  her  soul  had  gone 
In  shame  and  falsehood  since  those  moments 

shone ; 

And,  then,  her  oath  ! — Uiere  madness  lay  again, 
And,  shuddering,  back  she  sunk  into  her  chain 
Of  mental  darkness,  as  if  blest  to  flee 
From  light  whose  every  glimpse  was  agony ! 
Yet,  one  relief  this  glance  of  former  years 
Brought,  mingled  with  its  pain — tears,  floods 

of  tears, 

Long  frozen  at  her  heart,  but  now  like  rills 
Let  loose  in  spring  time  from  the  snowy  hills, 
And  gushing  warm  after  a  sleep  of  frost, 
Through  valleys  where  their  flow  had  long  been 

lost! 

Sad  and  subdued,  for  tl<3  first  time  her  frame 
Trerr  bled  with  hen  or,  when  the  summons  came 


THE   VEILED    PKOrilET   OF   KHORASSAN.       31 

.A  summons  proud  and  rare,  which  all  bat  she, 
And  she  till  now,  had  heard  with  extacy.) 
To  meet  MOKANNA  at  his  place  of  prayer, 
A  garden  oratory,  cool  and  fair, 
By  the  stream's  side,  where  still  at  close  ol  day 
The  Prophet  of  the  Veil  retir'd  to  pray; 
Sometimes  alone,  but,  oftener  tar,  with  one, 
One  chosen  nymph  to  share  hi^  orison. 

Of  late  none  found  such  favor  in  his  sight 
As  the  young  Priestess  ;  and  though,  since  thai 

night 

When  the  death-caverns  echoed  every  tone 
Of  the  dire  oath  that  made  her  all  his  own, 
Th'  Impostor,  sure  of  his  infatuate  prize, 
Had,  more  than  once,  thrown  off  his  soul's  dis- 
guise, 

And  utter'd  such  unheav'nly,  monstrous  things, 
As  ev'n  across  the  desperate  wanderings 
Of  a  weak  intellect,  whose  lamp  was  out, 
Threw  startling  shadows  of  dismay  and  doubt; 
Yet,  zeal,  ambition,  her  tremendous  vow, 
The  thought,  still  haunting  her,  of  that  bright 

brow 

Whose  blaze,  ,3.s  yet  from  mortal  eye  conceal'd, 
Would  soon,  ptoud  triumph  !  be  to  her  reveai'd, 
To  her  alone  ;  and  then  the  hope  most  dear, 
Most  wild  of  all  that  her  transgressions  here 
Was  but  apassige  through  earth's  grosser  fire, 
From  which  th<;  spirit  would  at  last  aspire, 
Ev'n  purer  thar.  before,  as  perfumes  rise 


32       THE    VEILED    PROPHET    OF    KHORASSAfl. 

Through  flame  and  smoke,  most  welcome  to  the 

skies—- 
And that  when  AZIM'S  fond,  divine  embrace 
Should  circle  her  in  heav'n,  no  darkening  trace 
Would  on  that  bosom  he  once  lov'd  remain, 
But  all  be  bright,  be  pure,  be  his  again  '.-— 
These  were  the  wildering  dreams,  whose  curst 

deceit 

Had  chain'd  her  soul  beneath  the  tempter's  feet, 
And  made  her  think  ev'n  damning  falsehood 

sweet. 
But  now   that  shape  which  had  appall' d  hei 

view, 

That  Semblance — oh  how  terrible,  if  true  ! — 
Which  came  across  her  frenzy's  full  career 
With  shock  of  consciousness,  cold,  deep,  seveie, 
As  when  in  northern  seas,  at  midnight  dark, 
An  isle  of  ice  encounters  some  swift  bark, 
And,  startling  all  its  wretches  from  their  sleep, 
By  one  cold  impulse  hurls  them  to  the  deep  ; — - 
So  came  that  shock  not  frenzy's  self  could  bear 
And  waking  up  each  long,  lull'd  image  there, 
But  check'd  her  headlong  soul,   to  sink  it  ir 

despair ! 

Wan  and  dejected,  through  the  evening  dusk 
She  now  went  slowly  to  that  small  kiosk, 
Where ,  pondering  alone  his  impious  schemes, 
MOKANNA  waited  her — too  wrapt  in  dreams 
Of  the  fair-ripening  future's  rich  success, 
To  heed  the  sorrow,  pale  and  spiritless 


THE  VEILED  PROPHET  OF  KHORASSAN.         33 

That  sat  upon  his  victim's  downcast  brow, 
Or  mark  how  slow  her  step,  how  alter'd  now 
From  the  quick,  ardent,  Priestess,  whose  ligh. 

bound 

Came  like  a  spirit  o'er  the  unechoing  ground,*- 
From  that  wild  ZELICA,  whose  every  glance 
Was  thrilling  fire,  whose  every  thought  a  trance  ' 

Upon  his  couch  the  veiled  MOKANNA  lay, 
While  lamps  around — not  such  as  lend  their  ray 
Glimmering  and  cold,  to  those  who  nightly  pray 
In  holy  KOOM,*  or  MECCA'S  dim  arcades, — 
But  brilliant,  soft,  such  light  as  lovely  maids 
Look  loveliest  in,  shed  their  luxurious  glow 
Upon  his  mystic  Veil's  white  glittering  flow. 
Beside  him,  'stead  of  beads  and  books  of  prayer 
Which  the  world  fondly  thought  he   mused  on 

there, 

Stood  vases,  fill'd  with  KismrEE'st  golden  wine, 
And  the  red  weepings  of  the  SHIRAZ  vine  ; 
Of  which  his  curtain'd  lips  full  many  a  draught 
Took  zealously,  as  if  each  drop  they  quafTd, 
Like  ZEMZEM'S  Spring  of  Holiness!  had  power 
To  freshen  the  soul's  virtues  into  flower  ! 


»  The  r-ties  of  Com  [nr  Kocm]  and  Cashan  are  full  of 
rnosqufSj  mausoleums,  and  sepulchres  of  the  descendants 
of  Ah,  tna  Saints  of  Persia. -.*ttardin. 

t  An  laiand  in  the  Persian  3ulf,  celebrated  for  its  white 
•rine. 

J  The  miraculous  well  at  Mecca  ;  so  called,  Bays  Sal?, 
Torn  tha  murmuring  of  i'.s  vatera. 


54       THE   VEILED    PROPHET   OF   KHC HASSAN. 

And  still  he  drank  and  ponder'd — nor  could  sea 

Th'  approaching  maid  so  deep  his  reverie  ; 

At  length,  with  fiendish  laugh,  like  that  which 

broke 

From  EBLTS  at  the  Fall  of  Man,  he  spoke: — 
"  Yes,  ye  vile  race,  for  hell's  amusement  given. 
Too  mean  for  earth,  yet  claiming  kin  with  heaven  • 
God's  images,  forsooth  ! — such  gods  as  he 
Whom  INDIA  serves,  the  monkey  deity  ;*•— 
Ye  creatures  of  a  breath,  proud  things  of  clay, 
To  whom,  if  LUCIFER,  as  grandams  say, 
Refus'd,  though  at  the  forfeit  of  Heaven's  light 
To  bend  in  worship,  LUCIFER  was  right ! — 
Soon  shall  I  plant  this  foot  upon  the  neck 
Of  your  foul  race,  and  without  fear  or  check, 
Luxuriating  in  hate,  avenge  my  shame, 
My  deep-felt,  long-nurst  loathing  of  man's  name. 
Soon,  at  the  head  of  myriads,  blind  and  fierce 
As  hooded  falcons,  through  the  universe 
I'll  sweep  my  darkening,  desolating  way, 
Weak  man  my  instrument,  curst  man  my  prey ! 

"Ye  wise,  ye  learned,  who  grope  your  dull 

way  on 

By  the  dim  twinkling  gleams  of  ages  gone, 
Like  superstitious  thieves,  who  think  the  light 
From  dead  men's  marrow  guides  them  best  at 

nightt — 


*T?ie  pod  ofHannaman 

t  A  kind  of  lantern  formerlj  ured  ty  robbers,  tailed  th 


THE   VEILED    PROPHET   CvF   KI10RASSAN.       3A 

STe  shall  have  honors — wealth,- — yes.  sages,  yes, 
I  know,  grave  fools,  your  wisdom's  nothingness ; 
Undazzled  it  can  track  yon  starry  sphere, 
But  a  gilt  stick,  a  bauble  blinds  it  here. 
How  I  shall  laugh  when  trumpeted  along, 
In  lying  speech  and  still  more  lying  song, 
By  these  learn'd  slaves,  the  meanest  of  the  throng; 
Their  wits  bought  up,  their  wisdom  shrunk  so 

small, 
A  sceptre's  puny  point  can  wield  it  all ! 

"  Ye  too,  believers  of  incredible  creeds, 
Whose  faith  enshrines  the  monsters  which  rt 

breeds ; 

Who,  bolder  ev'n  than  NE.MROD,  think  to  rise 
By  nonsense  heap'd  on  nonsense  to  the  skies ; 
Ye  shall  have  miracles,  ay,  sound  ones  too, 
Seen,  heard,  attested,  every  thing — but  true. 
Your  preaching  zealots,  too  inspired  to  seek 
One  grace  of  meaning  for  the  things  tney  speak ; 
Your  martyrs,  ready  to  shed  om  their  blood 
For  truths  too  heavenly  to  be  understood ; 
And  your  state  priests,  sole  venders  of  the  lore 
That  works  salvation  ; — as  on  AVA'S  shore, 
Where  none  but  priests  are  privileg'd  to  trade 
In  that  best  marble  of  which  gods  are  made  ;* 
They  shall  have  mysteries— -ay,  precious  stuff 

Hand  of  Glory,  the  candle  for  which  was  made  of  the  fa! 
of  a  dead  rnalefaclor.     This,  howurer,  was  rather  a  West 
ern  than  an  Eastern  superstition. 
*  Byrnes' s  Ava,  vol   ii   p.  S76. 


36    THE  VEILED  PROPHET  CF  KHORASSAN. 

For  knaves  to  thrive  by — mysteries  enough 
Dark,  tangled  doctrines,  dark  as  fraud  can  weatre^ 
Which  simple  votaries  shall  on  trust  receive, 
While  craftier  feign  belief,  till  they  befceve. 
A  Heav'n  too  ye  must  have,  ye  lords  of  dust,— 
A  splendid  Paradise — pure  souls,  ye  must : 
That  Prophet  ill  sustains  his  holy  call, 
Who  finds  not  heav'ns  to  suit  the  tastes  of  all; 
Houris  for  boys,  omniscience  for  sages, 
And  wings  and  glories  for  all  ranks  and  ages. 
Vain  things  ! — as  lust  or  vanity  inspires, 
The  heaven  of  each  is  but  what  each  desires, 
And,  soul  or  sense,  whate'er  the  object  be, 
Man  would  be  man  to  all  eternity  ! 
So  let  him — E'BLIS  !  grant  this  crowning  curse, 
But  keep  him  what  he  is,  no  hell  were  worse."— 

"  Oh  my  lost  soul !"  exclaim' d  the  shuddering 

maid, 

Whose  ears  hadfbunk  like  poison  all  he  said,— • 
MOKANNA  started — not  abashed,  afraid, — 
He  knew  no  more  of  fear  than  one  who  d^slls 
Beneath  the  tropics  knows  of  icicles  ! 
But,  in  those  dismal  words  that  reach'd  his  ear, 
"Oil  -ry  lost  soul !"  there  was  a  sound  so  drear 
So  iiKC  that  voice,  among  the  sinful  dead, 
In  which  the  legend  o'er  Hell's  gate  is  read ! 
That,  new  as 'twas  from  her,  whom  nought  could 

dim 
Or  sink  till  now,  it  startled  even  hi  n. 


THE  VEILED  PROPHET  OF  K.HORASSAN.         37 

"Ha,  my  fair  Priestess!"  thus,  with  ready 

wile, 
Th'  impostor  turn' d  to  greet  her — "  thou  whose 

smile 

Hath  inspiration  in  its  rosy  beam 
Beyond  th'  enthusiast's  hope  or  prophet's  dream ! 
Light  of  the  Faith!  who  twin'st  religion's  zeal 
So  close  with  love's,  men  know  not  which  they 

feel, 

Nor  which  to  sigh  for  in  their  trance  of  heart, 
The  Heav'n  thou»preachest,  or  the  Heav'n  thou 

art ! 

What  should  I  be  without  thee  ?  without  thee 
How  dull^vere  power,  hew  joyless  victory  ! 
Though  borne  by  angels,  if  that  smile  of  thine 
Bless'd  not  my  banner,  'twere  but  half  divine. 
But — why  so  mournful,  child?  those  eyes,  that 

shone 

All  life,  last  night — what!  is  their  glory  gone  ? 
Come,  come — this  momi's  fatigue  hath  made  them 

pale, 
They  want  rekindling — suns  themselves  would 

fail, 

Did  not  their  comets  bring,  as  I  to  thee, 
From  Light's  own  fount,  supplies  of  brilliancy ! 
Thou  seest  this  cup — -no  juice  of  earth  is  here, 
But  the  pure  waters  of  that  upper  sphere, 
Whose  rills  o'er  ruby  beds  and  topaz  flow, 
Catching  the  gem's  bright  color,  as  they  go. 
Nightly  my  Genii  come  and  fill  these  urns — 
Nay,  drnk — in  every  j*op  life's  essence  burn* 


38        THE  VEILED  PHOl'HEl  OF  KiiORASiAH . 

'Twill  make  that  soul  allfiio,  those  eyes  all  light— « 
Come,  come,  I  want  thy  Icveliest  smiles  to-night: 
There  is  a  youth — why  start  ? — thou  saw'st  him 

then; 

Look'd  he  not  nobly  ?  such  the  god- like  men 
Thou' It  have  to  woo  thee  in  the  bowers  above  ;— 
Though  fie,  I  fear,  hath  thoughts  too  stern  for  love, 
Too  rul'd  by  that  cold  enemy  of  bliss 
The  world  calls  Virtue—we  must  conquer  this— • 
Nay  shrink  not,  pretty  sage  ;  'tis  not  for  thee 
To  scan  the  mazes  of  Heav'n's  mystery. 
The  steel  must  pass  through  fire,  ere  it  canyielJ 
Fit  instruments  for  mighty  hands  to  wield. 
This  very  night  I  mean  to  try  the  arl* 
Of  powerful  beauty  on  that  warrior's  heart. 
All  that  my  Haram  boasts  of  bloom  and  wit, 
Of  skill  and  charms,  most  rare  and  exquisite, 
Shall  tempt  the  boy; — young  MIEZALA'S  bine 

eyes, 

Whose  sleepy  lid  like  snow  on  violets  lies  ; 
AROUYA'S  cheeks,  warm  as  a  spring-day  sun, 
And  lips,  that,  like  the  seal  of  SOLOMON, 
Have  magic  in  their  pressure  ;  ZEBA'S  lute, 
And  LILLA'S  dancing  feet,  that  gleam  and  shoot, 
Rapid  and  white  as  sea-birds  o'er  the  deep  !— 
All  shall  combine  their  witching  powers  to  steep 
My  convert's  spirit  in  that  softening  trance, 
From  which  t<r  Heav'n  is  but  the  next  advance  ;•— 
That  glowing,  yielding  fusion  of  the  breast, 
On  which  religion  stamps  her  image  best. 


THE  VEILED  PRO!  1ET  <.  F'KIiORASSAH .         39 

But  hear  me,  Priestess  though   each  nymph  ol 

these 

Hath  some  peculiar  practised  power  to  please, 
Some  glance  or  step,  which,  at  the  mirror  tried, 
First  charms  herself,  then  all  the  world  beside  ; 
There  still  wants  r-ie  to  make  the  victory  sure, 
One,  who  in  every  look  joins  every  lure  ; 
Through  whom  all  beauty's  beams  conccnter'd 

pass, 
Dazzling  and  warm,  as  through  love's  burning 

glass  ; 

Whose  gentle  lips  persuade  without  a  word, 
Whose  words,  ev'n  when  unmeaning,  are  ador'd, 
Like  inarticulate  breathings  from  a  shrine, 
Which  our  fate  takes  for  granted  are  divine  ! 
Such  is  the  nymph  we   want,   all  warmth  and 

light, 

To  crown  the  rich  temptations  of  to-night ; 
Such  the  refined  enchantress  that  must  be 
This  Hero's  vanquisher, — and  thou  art  she  !'"' 

With  her  hands  clasp' d,  her  lips  apart  and  pale. 
The  maid  had  stood,  gazing  upon  the  Veil 
From   whence  these  words,    like    south- winds 

through  a  fence 

Of  Kerzrah  flow'rs,  came  filled  with  pestilence  :* 
So  boldly  utter'd  too  !  as  if  all  dread 
Of  frowns  from  her,  of  virtuous  frowns,  were  fled, 

»  "  It  is  commonly  said  in  Persia,  that  if  a  man  breathe 
in  the  hot  Boiith-wiri'1,  which  in  June  or  Jul.y  passes  ovel 
tha>  flower,  [the  Kerzerah,]  it  veil!  kill  him.'1 ' 


4U        THE   VEILED  PROPHET  OJ  KHOIUSSAJf. 

And  the  wretch  feltassur'd,  that  once  plung'dhij 
Her^woman's  soul  would  know  no  pause  in  sin 

At  first,  though  mute  she  listen' d,  like  a  dream 
Seem'd  all  he  said  ;  nor  could  her  mind,  whose 

beam 

As  yet  was  weak,  penetrate  half  his  scheme. 
But  when,  at  length,  he  utter'd"  Thou  art  she  !" 
Allflash'd  at  once,  and,  shrieking  piteously, 
"  Oh  not  for  worlds !"  she  cried — "Great  God  i 

to  whom 

I  once  knelt  innocent,  is  this  my  doom  ? 
Are  all  my  dreams,  my  hopes  of  heavenly  Mi«8, 
My  purity,  my  pride,  then  come  tc  this,- 
To  live,  the  wanton  of  a  fiend  !  to  be 
The  pander  of  his  guilt — oh,  infamy  ! 
And  sunk,  myself,  as  low  as  hell  can  ste°p' 
In  its  hot  flood,  drag  others  down  as  deep ' 
Others  ! — ha!  yes — that  youth  who  came  to-day  : 
Not  him  I  lov'd — not  him — oh !  do  but  say, 
But  swear  to  me  this  moment  'tis  not  he, 
And  I  will  serve,  dark  fiend !  will  worship,  even 

thee!" 

"Beware,  young  raving  thing! — in  time  be 

ware , 

Nor  utter  what  I  cannot,  must  not  bear 
Ev'n  from  thy  lips.     Go-   try  thy  lute,  thy  voice  | 
The  boy  must  feel  their  magic — I  rejoice 
To  see  those  fires,  no  matter  whence  they  rise, 
Once  more  'lluming  my  fair  Priestess'  eyes  • 


THE    VEILED   PROPHET   OF   KIIORASSAN.       41 

^nd  should  the  youth,  whom  soon  those  eyes 

shall  warm, 

indeed  resemble  thy  dead  lover's  form, 
So  much  the  happier  wilt  thou  find  thy  doom, 
As  one  warm  lover,  full  of  life  and  bloom, 
Excels  ten  thousand  £old  ones  in  the  tomb. — 
Nay,  nay,  no  frowning,  sweet !  those  eyes  were 

made 
For  love,  not  anger — I  must  be  obey'd." 

"  Obey'd  ! — 'tis  well — yes-,  I  deserve  it  all — 
On  me,  on  me  heaven's  vengeance  cannot  fall 
Too  heavily — but  AZIM,  brave  and  true, 
And  beautiful— must  Tie  be  ruin'd  too? 
Must  he  too,  glorious  as  he  is,  be  driven 
A  renegade  like  me  from  Love  and  Heaven  ? 
Like   me? — weak  wretch,  I  wrong  him — not 

like  me ; 

No — he's  all  truth,  and  strength,  and  purity ! 
Fill  up  your  madd'ning  hell-cup  to  the  brim, 
Its  witchery  fiends,  will  have  no  charm  for  him. 
Let  loose  your  glowing  wantons  from  their  bowere; 
He  loves,  he  loves,  and  can  defy  their  powers ! 
Wretch  as  I  am,  in  7ds  heart  still  I  reign 
,  Pure  as  when  first  we  met  without  a  stain  ! 
Though  ruin'd — lost — my  memory,  like  a  charm 
Left  by  the  dead,  still  keeps  his  soul  from  harm. 
Oh  !  never  let  him  know  how  deep  the  brow 
fie  kiss'd  at  parting  is  dishonor' d  now — 
Ne'er  tell  him  how  debas'd,  how  sunk  is  she. 
Whom  once  ho  lov' 1  -oncft!  still  loves  doatingly 


42       1'HE    VEILED    PP.OPHET   OF   KHOIAS4AN. 

Thoulaugh'st  tormentor, — what ! — thoul'tbrand 

my  name  ? 

Do,  do — in  vain — he'll  not  believe  my  shame — 
He  thinks  me  true,  that  nought  beneath  God's  sky ' 
Could  tempt  or  change  me,  and — so  once 

thought  I. 

But  this  is  past — though  worse  than  death  my  lot, 
Than  hell — 'tis  nothing,  while  Tie  knows  it  not. 
Far  off  to  some  benighted  land  I'll  fly, 
Where  sunbeam  ne'er  shall  enter  till  I  die ; 
Where  none  will  ask  the  lost  one  whence  she  came 
But  I  may  fade  and  fall  without  a  name  ! 
Andthou, — curst  man  or  fiend,  whate'crthou  art 
Who  found' st  this  burning  plague-spot  in  my 

heart, 
And  spread's!  it — oh,  so  quick! — thro' soul  and 

frame 

With  more  than  demon's  art,  till  I  became 
A  loathsome  thing,  all  pestilence,  all  flame! 
If  when  I'm  gone" 

"  Hold,  fearless  maniac,  hold, 
Nor  tempt  my  rage — by  heaven,  not  half  so  bold 
The  puny  bird  that  dares  with  teazing  hum 
Within  the  crocodile's  stretch'd  jaws  to  come.*— 
And  so  thou'lt  fly,  forsooth  ? — what,  give  up  all 
Thy  chaste  dominions  in  the  Haram  hall, 

*  The  ancient  story  concerning  the  Trochilus,  or  hum- 
mine  bird,  entering  wi'h  impunity  into  the  mouth  of  tha 
crocodile,  is  firml*  be lieved  at  Jwa.---Barrow'j  Cocfiin- 
China. 


THE   VEILED    PROPHET    DF    KHORASSAN.       43 

Where  now  to  Love,  and  now  to  ALLA  given, 
Half  mistress  and  half  saint,  thou  hang' st  as  even 
As  doth  MEDINA'S  tomb, 'twixt  hell  and  heaven* 
Thou' It  fly?  as  easily  may  reptiles  run, 
The  gaunt  snake  once  hath  fix'd  his  eyes  upon; 
As  easily,  when  caught,  the  prey  may  be 
Pluck'd  from  its  loving  folds,  as  thou  from  me. 
No,  no,  'tis  fLx'd — let' good  or  ill  betide, 
Thou'rt  mine  till  death,   till  death  MOKANNA'S 

bride ! 
Hast  thou  forgot  thy  oath  ?" 

At  this  dread  word 

The  maid,  whose  spirit  his  rude  taunts  had  stirr'd 
Through  all  its  depths,  and  rous'd  an  anger  there, 
That  burst  and  lighten'd  ev'n  through  her  des- 
pair ! — 

Shrunk  back,  as  if  a  blight  were  in  the  breath 
That  spoke  that  word,  and  stagger'd  pale  as  death, 

"  STcs,  my  sworn   bride,  let  others  seek  in 

bowers 

The  bridal  place — the  charnal  vault  was  ours ! 
Instead  of  scents  and  balms,  for  thee  and  me 
Rose  the  rich  steams  of  sweet  mortality  ;— 
Gay  flickering  death-lights  shone  while  we  were 

wed. 

And  for  our  guests,  a  row  of  goodly  dead, 
(Immortal  spirits  in  their  time,  no  doubt,) 
From  reeking  shrouds,  upon  the  rite  look'd  out ! 
That  oath  thou  heard' st  more  lips  than  thin* 

ip.peat— 


4   THE  VEILED  PROPHET  OF  KHORASSAN. 

That  cup — thou  shudderest,  lady — was  it  sweet  \ 
That  cup  we  pledg'd,  the  charnal's  choicest  wine, 
Hath  bound  thee — ay — body  and  soul  all  mine ; 
Bound  thee  by  chains,  that,  whether  blest  or  curst 
No  matter  now,  not  hell  itself  shall  burst! — 
Hence,  woman,  to  the  Haram,  and  look  gay, 
Look  wild,  look — any  thing  but  sad  ; — yet  stay — 
One  moment  more — from  what  this  night  hath 

passed, 
I  see  that  thou  know'st  me,  know'st  me  well  at 

last. 
Ha!  ha!  and  so,  fond  thing,  thou  thought' st  all 

true, 

And  that  I  lov'd  mankind ! — I  do,  I  do — 
As  victims,  love  them ;  as  the  sea-dog  doats 
Upon  the  small  sweet  fly  that  round  him  floats ; 
Or  as  ihe  Nile-bird  loves  the  slime  that  gives 
That  rank  and  venomous  food  on  which  she 

lives  !* 

And,  now  thou  see'st  my  soul's  angelic  hue, 
'Tis  time  those  features  were  uncurtain'd  too ; — 
This  brow,  whose  light — oh,  rare  celestial  light ! 
Hath  been  reserved,  to  bless  thy  favor'd  sight ! 
These   dazzling  eyes,  before  whose   shrouded 

might, 

Thou'st  seen  immortal  man  kneel  down  and 
.     quake — 


*  Circum  easdem  ripaa  [Nili,  vi/.]  ales  est  Ibis.  Ea 
eerpentium  populatur  ova,  grattissimanque  ex  his  nidii 
e?cam  suis  refert 


THE   VEILED   FKOPHKV  OF   KHORABSAN.      45 

Would  that  they  were  Heaven's  lightnings  for  hia 

sake  ! 

But  turn  and  look — then  wonder,  if  thou  wilt, 
That  I  should  hate,  should  take  revenge,  by 

guilt, 

Upon  the  hand,  whose  mischief  or  whose  mirth 
Sent  me  thus  maim'd  and  monstrous  upon  earth ; 
And  on  that  race  who,  though  more  vile  they  be 
Than  mowing  apes,  are  demi-gods  to  me  ! 
Here,  judge,  if  Hell  with  all  its  power  to  damn, 
Can  add  one  curse  to  the  foul  thing  I  am  !" 

He    rais'd  his  veil — the  maid  tur,n'd  slowly 

round, 

Look'd  at  him — shriek*  d — and  eank  upon  the 
ground. 

ON  their  arrival,  next  night,  at  the  place  of 
encampment,  they  were  surprised  and  delighted 
to  find  the  groves  all  round  illuminated ;  some 
artists  of  Yam  teheou  having  been  sent  on  pre- 
viously for  the  purpose.  On  each  side  of  the 
green  alley  which  led  to  the  Royal  Pavilion 
artificial  sceneries  of  bamboo-work  were  erected, 
representing  arches,  minarets,  and  towers,  from 
which  hung  thousands  of  silken  lanterns,  paint- 
ed by  the  most  delicate  pencils  of  Canton.  No- 
thing could  be  more  beautiful  than  the  leaves  ol 
the  mango-trees  and  acacias,  shining  in  the  light 
of  the  bamboo  scenery,  which  shed  a  lustre 
round  as  soft  as  that  of  the  nights  of  Peristan. 


46   THS  VEILED  PROPHET  OF  KHORASSA.V. 

LALLA  ROOKH,  however,  \vho  was  too  much 
occupied  by  the  sad  story  of  ZELICA  and  her 
lover,  to  give  a  thought  to  any  thing  else,  ex- 
cept, perhaps,  him  who  related  it,  hurried  on 
through  this  scene  of  splendor  to  her  pavilion, — 
greatly  to  the  mortification  of  the  poor  artists  of 
Yamtcheou, — and  was  followed  with  equal  ra- 
pidity by  the  great  Chamberlain,  cursing,  as  he 
went,  that  ancient  Mandarin,  whose  parental 
anxiety  in  lighting  up  the  shores  of  the  lajke, 
where  his  beloved  daughter  had  wandered  and 
been  lost,  was  the  origin  of  these  fantastic  Chi- 
nese illuminations.  Without  a  moment's  delay 
young  FERAMORZ  was  introduced,  and  FADLA- 
DEEN,  who  could  never  .make  up  his  mind  as  to 
the  merits  of  a  poet,  till  he  knew  the  religious 
gect  to  which  he  belonged,  was  about  to  ask  him 
whether  he  was  a  Shia  or  a  Sooni,  when  LALLA 
ROOKH  impatiently  clapped  her  hands  for  si- 
lence, and  the  youth,  being  seated  upon  the  mus- 
nud  near  her,  proceeded : — . 

PREPARE  thy  soul,  young  AZIAT  !  thou  hastbrav'd 
The  bands  of  GREECE,  still  mighty,  though  en- 

slav'd; 

Hast  fac'd  her  phalanx,  arm'd  with  all  its  fame 
Her  Macedonian  pikes  and  globes  of  flame  ; 
All  this  hast  fronted,  with  firm  heart  and  brow. 
But  a  more  perilous  trial  waits  thee  now, — 
Woman's  bright  eyes,  a  dazzling  host  of  eyes 
From  evor'v  land  whenf  woman  smiles  or  sighs, 


THE  VEILED  PROPHET  OF  KHORASSAN.   4* 

Of  every  hue  as  Love  may  thance  to  raise 
His  black  or  azure  banner  in  their  blaze ; 
And  each  sweet  mode  of  warfare,  from  the  flash 
That  lightens  boldly  through  the  shadowy  lash, 
To  the  sly,  stealing  pplendors  almost  hid, 
Like  swords  half- sheath' d,  beneath  the  downcast 

lid. 

Such,  AZIM,  is  the  lovely,  luminous  host 
Now  led  against  thee  ;  and,  let  conquerors  boaa 
Their  fields  of  fame,  he  who  in  virtue  arms 
A  yonng,  warm  spirit  against  beauty's  charms 
Who  feels  her  brightness,  yet  defies  her  thrall, 
Is  the  best,  bravest  conqueror  of  them  all. 

Now,  through  the  Ilaram  chambers,  moving 

lights 

And  busy  shapes  proclaim  the  toilet' s» rites  ; — 
From  room  to  room  the  ready  handmaids  hie, 
Some  skilled  to  wreath  the  turban  tastefully, 
Or  hang  the  veil,  in  negligence  of  shade, 
O'er  the  warm  blushes  of  the  youthful  maid, 
Who,  if  between  the  folds  but  one  eye  shone, 
Like   SEBA'S  Queen  could  vanquish  with  that 

one  :* — 

While  some  bring  leaves  of  Henna  to  imbue 
The  fingers'  ends  with  a  bright  roseate  hue,t 

* «'  Thou  hast  revished  my  haart  with  one  of  thine 
fjes."—Sol.  Song. 

f  «« They  tinged  the  ends  of  her  fingers  scarlet  with 
Henna,  so  that  they  resembled  branchaa  of  coral. "---Sto' 
•y  of  Prince  Putt  am  in  Bahordanuih. 


48   THE  VEILED  PROPHET  OF  KHCRASSAN. 

So  bright  that  in  the  mirrors  depth  they  seem 
Like  tips  of  coral  branches  in,  the  stream ; 
And  others  mix  the  cohol's  jetty  dye, 
To  give  that  long,  dark  languish  to  the  eye,* 
Which  makes  the  maids,  whom  kings  are  proud 

to  cull 
FFom  fair  Circassia's  vales,  so  beautiful. 

All  is  in  motion ;  rings,  plumes,  and  pearls 
Are  shining  every  where  ; — some  younger  girls 
Are  gone  by  moonlight  to  the  garden  beds, 
To  gather  fresh,  cool  chaplets  for  their  heads  ; 
Gay  creatures  !  sweet,  though  mournful  'tis  to  see 
How  each  prefers  a  garland  from  that  tree 
Which  brings  to  mind  her  childhood's  innocen* 

day, 

And  the  dear  fields  and  friendships  far  away. 
The  maid  of  INDIA,  blest  again  to  hold 
In  her  full  lap  the  Champac's  leaves  of  gold, t 
Thinks  of  the  time  when  by  the  GANGES'  flood, 
Her  little  playmates  scatter' d  many  a  bud 
Upon  her  long  black  hair,  with  glossy  gleam 
Just  dripping  from  the  consecrated  stream  ; 
While  the  young  ARAB,  haunted  by  the  smell 
Of  her  own  mountain  flowers,  as  by  a  spell, — 

*«  The  women  blacken  the  inside  of  their  eyelids  with 
a  powder  named  the  black  Cohol."---/?«*sef. 

t"  The  appearance  of  the  blossoms  of  the  gold-colored 
Champac  on  the  black  hair  of  the  Indian  women,  has 
>upplied  the  Sanscrit  Poets  with  many  elegant  allushns." 
Jteseardus,  vol.  iv. 


THE    VEILED    FUOrilET   Of    K11OR1.  SSAtf.       4. 

The  sweet  Elcaya,*  and  the  Courteous  tree 
Which  bows  to  all  who  seek  its  canopy t — 
Sees  call'd  up  round  her  by  these  magic  scents 
The  well,  the  camels,  and  her  father's  tents  ; 
Sighs  for  the  home  she  left  with  little  pain, 
And  wishes  e'en  its  sorrows  back  again ! 

Meanwhile,  through  vast  illuminated  halls, 
Silent  and  bright,  where  nothing  but  the  falls 
Of  fragrant  waters,  gushing  with  cool  sound 
From  many  a  jasper  fount  is  heard  around, 
Young  Azm  roams  bew'Mer'd — nor  can  guess 
What  means  this  maze  ot  light  and  loneliness. 
Here  the  way  leads,  o'er  tessalated  floors, 
Or  mats  of  CAIRO,  through  long  corridors, 
Where,  rang'd  in  cassolets  and  silver  urns, 
Sweet  wood  of  aloe  or  of  sandal  burns  ; 
And  spicy  rods,  such  as  illume  at  night 
The  bowers  of  TiEKr,t  sends  forth  odorous  light 
Like  Peris'  wands,  when  pointing  out  the  roaV 
For  some  pure  Spirit  to  its  blest  abode  ! — 
And  here,  at  once,  the  glittering  saloon 
Bursts  Dn  his  sight,  boundless  and  bright  as  noon  ; 
Where,  in  the  midst,  reflecting  back  the  rays 

*  "  A  tree  famous  for  its  perfume,  and  common  on  th« 
hills  of  Yemen."- --Niebuhr. 

•j-  Of  the  genus  mimosa,  "  which  droops  its  brancht* 
vhenever  any  person  approaches  it,  seeming  as  if  it  s» 
luted  those  who  retire  under  its  shade. "••-Nitbuhr. 

I  "Cloves  are  a  principal  ingredient  in  the  compositioa 
of  the  perfumed  rods,  which  mnn  yf rank  keep 
binning  in  their  presence. "---Turner's  7'if'tt. 
4 


50       TH£    VEILED   PROPHET   OF   KHDRASSAfl. 

In  broken  rainbows,  a  fresh  fountain  plays 
High  as  th'  enamell'd  cupola  which  towers 
All  rich  with  arabesques  of  gold  and  flowers ; 
And  the  mosaic  floor  beneath  shines  through 
The  sprinkling  of  that  fountain's  silvery  dew 
Like  the  wet,  glistening  shells  of  every  die, 
That  on  the  margin  of  the  Red  Sea  lie. 

Here  too  he  traces  the  kind  visitings 
Of  woman's  love  in  those  fair,  living  things 
Of  land  and  wave,   whose  fate, — in  bondaga 

thrown 

For  their  weak  loveliness — is  like  her  own  ! 
On  one  side,  gleaming  with  a  sudden  grace 
Through  water,  brilliant  as  the  crystal  vase 
In  which  it  undulates,  small  fishes   shine, 
Like  golden  ingots  from  a  fairy  mine  ; 
While,  on  the  other,  lattic'd  lightly  in 
With  odorifeous  woods  of  CAMORIJN* 
Each  brilliant  bird  that  wings  the  air  is  seen  ;— 
Gay,  sparkling  loories,  such  as  gleam  between 
The  crimson  blossoms  of  the  coral  tree,t 
In  the  warm  isles  of  India's  sunny  sea : 
Mecca's  blue  sacred  pigeon, t  and  the  thrush 

*•"  C'est  d'ou  vient  lebois  d'aloes.que  les  Arabea  ap 
pellent  Oud  Comari.et  celui  du  sandal,  qui  s'j  trouve  en 
grande  quantite.-  -•  2)' Herbelot. 

f  "Thousands  of  variegated  loories  visit  the  coral  treet. ** 
-••Barrow. 

|"  In  Mecca  there  are  quantities  of  blue  pi  peon* 
which  none  will  affright  or  abuse,  much  less  kill."— jPflMJ1 
Axk-jmt  cf  the  Mahometan 


THE  VEILED    T^OPHE!  OF  KhOKASSAN.        5J 

Of  Indostan,*  whose  holy  warbliftgs  gush, 
At  evening  from  the  tall  pagoda's  top ; — 
Those  golden  birds, t  that,  in  the  spice  time  drop 
About  the  gardens,  drunk  with  that  sweet  food 
Whose  scent  hath  iur'd  them  o'er  the  summer 

flood; 

And  those  that  under  Araby's  soft  sun 
Build  their  high  nests  of  budding  cinnamon  ;t— • 
In  short,  all  rare  and  beauteous  things  that  fly 
Through  the  pure  element,  here  calmly  lie 
Sleeping  in  light,  like  the  green  birds, $  that  dwell 
In  Eden's  radiant  fields  of  asphodel ! 

So  on  through  scenes  past  all  imaginings,— 
More  like  the  luxuries  of  that  impious  King,  II 
Whom  Death's  dark  Angel,  with  his  lightning 

torch, 
Struck  down  and  blasted  even  in  pleasure's  porch; 

*  ««  The  Pngodathrush  is  esteemed  among  the  first  cho- 
risters of  India.  Ii  pi1*"  perched  on  Ihe  sacred  Pagodas, 
and  from  thence  delivers  its  melodious  song.---Pennant'» 
IKndostan. 

t  Birds  of  Paradise,  which,  at  Ihe  rmlmeg  season,  come  in 
flights  from  Ihe  southern  isles  to  India,  and  "the  strength 
of  ihe  nutmeg,"  says  Tavernier,  "  so  intoxicates  them, 
that  they  fall  dead  drunk  to  the  earth." 

t"  That  bird  which  liveth  in  Arabia,  and  buildeth  ?!• 
neat  wi'h  cinnamjn."---j5rou7i's  Vulgar  Errors. 

$  "The  spirits  of  the  martyrs  will  be  lodged  in  ihf 
crops  of  green  birds."— £t'6A0n,  vol.  ix  .p.  42i. 

|8bedad,  who  made  the  delieioui  gardens  of  Irim  fa 
imitatkn  of  Paradise,  and  was  destroyed  by  lightning  tb« 
ime  he  attempted  to  e  iter  them. 


D2       THE   VEILED    PROPHET    OF   EHCRASSJLN. 

Than  the  pure  dwelling  of  a  Prophet  sent, 
Arra'd  with  Heaven's  sword  foi  man's  ei.fran 

chisement — 

Young  AZIM  wander'd,  looking  sternly  round, 
His  simple  garb  and  war-boots'  clanking  sound. 
But  ill  according  with  the, pomp  and  grace 
And  silent  lull  of  that  voluptuous  place  ! 

"  Is  this  then,"  thought  the  youth,  "  is  this  the 

way 

To  free  man's  spirit  from  the  deadening  sway 
Of  worldly  sloth  ; — to  teach  him  while  he  lives 
To  know  no  bliss  but  that  which  virtue  gives  ; 
And  when  he  dies  to  leave  his  lofty  name 
A  light,  a  land-mark  on  the  cliffs  of  fame  ? 
It  was  not  so,  land  of  the  generous  thought 
And  daring  deed  !  thy  god-like  sages  taught ; 
It  was  not  thus,  in  bowers  of  wanton  ease, 
Thy  Freedom  nurs'd  her  sacred  energies  ; 
Oh  !  not  beneath  th'  enfeebling,  withering  glov 
Of  such  dull  luxury  did  those  myrtles  grow, 
With  wrhich  she  wreath' d  her  sword,  when  she 

would  dare 

Immortal  deeds  ;  but  in  the  bracing  air 
Of  toil, — of  temperance, — of  that  high,  rare, 
Ethereal  virtue,  whicli  alone  can  breathe, 
Life,  health,  and  lustre  into  Freedom's  wreatn ! 
Who,  that  surveys  this  span  of  earth  we  press, 
This  speck  of  life  in  time's  great  wilderness, 
This  narrow  isthmus  'twixt  two  boundless  seas. 
The  past,  the  future,  two  eternities  ? 


TFIE  VLILED  PROPHET  OF  KIIORASSAN.         52 

iVould  sully  the  bright  spot,  or  leave  it  bare, 
When  he  might  build  him  a  proud  temple  there , 
A  name,  that  long  shall  hallow  all  its  space, 
And  bo  each  purer  soul's  high  resting  place  ? 
But  no — it  cannot  be  that  one,  whom  God 
Has  sent  to  break  the  wizard  Falsehood's  rod, — 
A  prophet  of  the  truth,  whose  mission  draws 
Its  rights  from  Heaven,  should  thus  profane  his 

cause 

With  the  world's  vulgar  pomps, — no,  no — I  see — 
He  thinks  me  weak — this  glare  of  luxury 
Is  but  to  tempt,  to  try  the  eaglet  gaze 
Of  my  young  soul; — shine  on  'twill  stand  the 

blaze  !" 

So  thought  the  youth  ; — but  ev'n  while  he  de- 
fied 

The  witching  scene,  he  felt  its  witchery  glide 
Through  every  sense.     The  perfume,  breathing 

round, 

Like  a  pervading  spirit — the  still  sound 
Of  falling  waters,  lulling  as  the  song 
Of  Indian  bees  at  sunset,  when  they  throng 
Around  the  fragrant  NILICA,  and  deep 
In  its  blue  blossoms  hum  themselves  to  sleep ! 
And  music  too — dear  music !  that  can  touch 
Beyond  all  else  the  soul  that  loves  it  much— 
Now  heard  far  off,  so  far  as  but  to  seem 

*  "  Mv  Pundi's  a^ure  me  that  the  plant  before UB  [the 
Kilicx.]  in  their  Sephalica,  thus  named  because  the  beet 
are  suppjsf  d  to  sleep  or;  ts  'jlossoms  '  --Sir  W  Janet 


H         THE  VtlLED  PROPHET  OF  KR^R A.SSAN 

Like  the  faint,  exquisite  music  of  a  dream  ,— • 
All  was  too  much  for  him,  too  full  of  bliss : 
The  heart  could  nothing  feel,  that  felt  not  this. 
Soften'd,  he  sunk  upon  a  couch,  and  gave 
His  soul  up  to  sweet  thoughts,  like  wave  on  wave 
Succeeding  in  smooth  seas,  when  storms  are 

laid ; 

He  thought  of  ZELICA,  his  own  dear  maid, 
And  of  the  time,  when,  full  of  blissful  sighs, 
They  sat  and  look'd  into  each  other's  eyes, 
Silent  and  happy — as  if  God  had  given 
Nought  else  worth  looking  at  on  this  side  heaven ! 

"  O  my  lov'd  mistress  !  whose  enchantments 

still 

Are  with  me,  round  me,  wander  where  I  will — 
It  is  for  thee,  for  thee  alone  I  seek 
The  paths  of  glory — to  light  up  thy  cheek 
With  warm  approval — in  that  gentle  look, 
To  read  my  praise,  as  in  an  angel's  book, 
And  think  all  toils  rewarded,  when  from  thee 
I  gain  a  smile,  worth  immortality  ! 
How  shall  I  bear  the  moment,  when  rcstor'd 
To  that  young  heart  where  I  alone  am  lord, 
Though  of  such  bliss  unworthy, — ranee  the  best 
Alone  deserve  to  be  the  happiest ! — 
When  from  those  lips,  unbreathed  upon  for  years, 
t  shall  again  kiss  off  the  soul-felt  tears, 
And  find  those  tears  warm  as  when  last  they 

started, 
Those  sacred  kisses  pure  as  when  we  parted  ! 


TEE   VEILED  PROI  HET   OV   KI1OIUSSAN.       53 

Jb  my  own  life  ! — why  should  a  single  day, 
A  moment,  keep  me  from  those  arms  away  ?" 

While  thus  he  thinks,  still  nearer  on  the  breeze 
Come  those  delicious,  dream-like  harmonies, 
Each  note  of  which  but  adds  new,  downy  links 
To  the  soft  chain  in  which  his  spirit  sinks. 
He  turns  him  tow'rd  the  sound,  and,  far  away 
Through  a  long  vista,  sparkling  with  the  play 
Of  countless  lamps, — like  the  rich  track  which 

Day 

Leaves  on  the  waters,  when  he  sinks  from  us ; 
So  long  the  path,  its  light  so  tremulous ; — 
He  sees  a  group  of  female  forms  advance, 
Some  chain'd  together  in  the  mazy  dance 
By  fetters,  forg'd  in  the  green  sunny  bowers, 
As  they  were  captives  to  the  King  of  Flowers  ;— • 
And  some  disporting  round,  unlmk'd  and  free. 
Who  seem'd  to  mock  their  sister's  slavery, 
And  round  and  round  them  still,  in  wheeling 

flight 

Went,  like  gay  moths  about  a  lamp  at  night ; 
While  others  walk'd  as  gracefully  along, 
Their  feet  kept  time,  the  very  soul  of  song 
From  psaltery,  pipe,  and  lutes  of  heavenly  thrill, 
Or  their  own  youthful  voices,  heavenlier  still ! 
And  now  they  come,  now  pass  before  his  eye, 
Forms  such  as  Nature  moulds,  when  she  would 

.    vie 

With  Fancy's  pencil,  and  gave  birth  to  thirgs 
Love'y  beyjnd  its  fairest  picturings  ! 


56         THE  VKIJ  ED  PROFIIET  OF  KIIORASSAN. 

Awhile  they  dance  before  him,  then  divide, 
Breaking,  like  rosy  clouds  at  even-tide 
Around  the  rich  pavillion  of  the  sun, 
Till  silently  dispersing,  one  by  one, 
Through  many  a  path  that  from  the  chambel 

leads 

To  gardens,  terraces,  and  moonlight  meads, 
Their  distant  laughter  comes  upon  the  wind 
And  but  one  trembling  nymph  remains  behind — 
Beck'ning  them  back  in  vain,  for  they  are  gone, 
And  she  is  left  in  all  that  light  alone  ; 
No  veil  to  curtain  o'er  her  beauteous  brow, 
In  its  young  bashfulness  more  beauteous  now 
But  a  light  golden  chain-work  round  her  hair. 
Such  as  the  maids  of  YEZD  and  SHTRAZ  wear 
From  which,  on  either  side,  gracefully  hung 
A  golden  Amulet,  in  th'  Arab  tongue, 
Engraven  o'er  with  some  immortal  line 
From  holy  writ,  or  bard  scarce  less  divine  ; 
While  her  left  hand,  as  shrinkingly  she  stood, 
Field  a  small  lute  of  gold  and  sandal-wood, 
Which  once  or  twice,  she  touch' d  with  hurried 

strain , 

Then  look  her  trembling  fingers  off  agai-n. 
But  when  at  length  a  timid  glance  she  stole 
At  AZIM,  the  sweet  gravity  of  soul 
She  saw  through  all  his  features  calm'd  her  fear, 
Ajid,  like  a  half- tarn' d  antelope,  more  near, 
Though  shrinking  still  she  came  ; — then  sat  her 

down 


THE  VEILI'JD    PROPHET   OF   KHORASSAH.       51 

Upon  a  musnud's*  edg-e  ;  and,  bolder  grown, 
In  the  pathetic  mode  of  ISFAHAN  t 
Touch'd  a  preluding  strain,  and  thus  began : 

There's  a  bower  of  roses  by  BENDEMEER'S} 

stream, 
And  the  nightingale  sings  round  it  all  the  day 

long; 
In  the  time  of  my  childhood  'twas  like  a  swee< 

dream, 
To  sit  in  the  roses  and  hear  the  bird's  song. 

That  bower  and  its  music  I  never  forget, 
But  oft  when  alone,  in  the  bloom  of  th«i 
year, 

I  think — is  the  nightingale  singing  there  yet ! 
Are  the  roses  still  bright  by  the  calm  BENDS- 

MEER  ? 

No,  the  roses  soon  wither' d  that  hung  o'er  the 

wave, 

But  someblossoms  were  gather'd,  while  fresh- 
ly they  shone, 

And  a  dew  was  distill' d  from  their  (lowers,  that 
gave 

*  Alusnuds  are  cushioned  seals,  usually  reserved  foi 
persons  of  distinction. 

t  T  lie  Persians,  like  the  ancient  Greeks,  call  their  mu- 
sical modes  or  Perdas  by  the  names  of  different  countries 
or  cities  ;  as,  ihe  mode  of  Isfahan,  the  mode  of  IraV,  elc 

t  A  riv<jr  ?  [>'•  rh  Hows  near  t  \e  :-ains  of  Chilminar 


5d         i,rS  VEILED  PROPHET  OF  KHOKASSAN. 

An  ibe  fragrance  of  summer,  when  summer  wa* 

gone. 

Tims  memory  draws  from  delight,  ere  it  dies, 
An  essence  that  breathes  of  it  many  a  year ; 
Thus  bright  to  rny  soul,  as  'twas  then  to  my 

eyes, 
Ts  that,  bower  on  the  banks  of  the  calm  BEN- 


'*  Poor  maiden  !"  thought  the  youth,  "  if  thov 

wert  sent, 

With  thy  soft  lute  and  beauty's  blandishment. 
To  wake  unholy  wishes  in  this  heart, 
Or  tempt  its  truth,  thou  little  know'st  the  art. 
For  though  thy  lip  should  sweetly  counsel  wrong 
Those  vestal  eyes  would  disavow  its  song. 
But  thou  hast  breath'  d  such  purity,  thy  lay 
Returns  so  fondly  to  youth's  virtuous  day, 
And  leads  thy  soul  —  if  e'er  it  wander'  d  thence*  • 
So  gently  back  to  its  first  innocence, 
That  I  would  sooner  stop  th'  unchained  dove, 
When  swift  returning  to  its  home  of  love, 
And  round  its  snov/y  wing  new  fetters  twine, 
Thiwi  turn  from  virtue  one  pure  wish  of  thine.'' 


had  this  feeling  pass'd,  when,  sparkling 

through 

The  gently  open?d  curtains  of  light  blue 
That  veil'  d  the  breezy  casement,  countless  eyea, 
Peeping  like  stars   through  the  blue  evening 

skies; 


Tilt.  VEILED  PROPHET  0)     'UCJIASSAN.        53 

LooX'd  laughing  in,  as  if  to  mock  the  pair 
That  sat  so  still  and  melancholy  there. — 
•ind  now  the  curtains  fly  apart,  and  in 
From  the  cool  air,  'mid  showers  of  jessamine 
Which  those  without  fling  after  them  in  play, 
Two  lightDme  maidens  spring,  lightsome  au 

they 

Who  live  in  th'  air  en  odours,  and  around 
^he    V~ight  saloon,   scarce    conscious  of   the 

ground, 

Chase  one  another  in  a  varying  dance 
Of  mirth  and  languor,  coyness  and  advance, 
Too  eloquently  like  love*s  warm  pursuit : — 
While  she,  who  sung  so  gently  to  the  lute 
Her  dreams  of  home,  steals  timidly  away. 
Shrinking  as  violets  do  in  summer's  ray, — 
;  But  takes  with  her  from  AZIM'S  heart  that  sigh 

We  sometimes  give  to 'forms  that  pass  us  by 
In  the  world's  crowd,  too  lovely  to  remain, 
Creatures  of  lighl  we  never  see  again  ! 
Around  the  white  necks  of  the  nymphs  who 

danc'd, 

Hung  carcanets  of  orient  gems,  that  glanc'd 
More  brilliant  than  the  sea-glass  glittering  o'er 
The  hills  of  crystal  on  the  Caspian  shore  ;  * 
While  from  their  long'  dark  tresses,  in  a  fall 

*  "  To  the  north  of  us,  [on  the  coast  of  tke  Caspian, 
near  'Badkuj  was  a  mountain  which  sparkled  like  dia- 
monds, arising  from  the  sea-glass  and  crystals,  with  which 
it  abounds  "--•  Journey  of  tJie  Russian  Jlmbassador  U 
Persia,  1T46. 


'..0       IflL    VEILED    PROPlIEl    CF   KHC> /    S3AN 

Of  curls  descending,  bells  as  musical 
As  those  that,  on  the  golden- shafted  t-ees 
Of  EDEN,  shake  in  the  Eternal  Breeze, "" 
Rung  round  their  steps,  at  every  bound  mora 

sweet, 

As  'twere  th'  ecstatic  language  of  their  feet ! 
At  length  the  chase  was  o'er,  and  they  stood 

wreath' d 
Within  each  other's  arms ;    while   soft  there 

breath' d 
Through  the  cool  casement,  mingled  with  the 

sighs 

Of  moonlight  flowers,  music  that  seem'd  to  rise 
From  some  still  lake,  so  liquidly  it  rose  ; 
And,  as  it  swell'd  again  at  each  faint  close, 
The  ear  could  track  through  all  that  maze  of 

chords 
And    young  sweet  voices,   these   impassion' d 

words : — 

A  SPIRIT  there  is,  whose  fragrant  sigh 
Is  burning  now  through  earth  and  air  ; 

Where  checks  are  blushing,  the  Spirit  is  nigh, 
Where  lips  are  meeting,  the  Spirit  is  there ! 

His  breath  is  the  soul  of  flowers  like  these, 
And  his  floating  eyes — oh '.  they  resemble 

*  "  To  which  will  be  added,  the  sound  of  the  bells, 
hanging  on  the  trees,  which  will  be  put  in  motion  bj  the 
wind  proceeding  from  the  throne  of  God,  as  often  as  Ih* 
Wesipd  wish  for  music"- --Sale 


THE   Vm.ED    PROPHET,    DF   KHORASSAN.       *»! 

Blue  water-lilies,  *  when  the  breeze 
Is  making  the  stream  around  them  tremble' 

Hail  to  thee,  hail  to  thce,  kindling  powsr ! 

Spirit  of  Love,  Spirit  of  Bliss  ! 
Thy  holiest  time  is  the  moonlight  hour, 

And  there  never  was  moonlight  so  &\veet  u 
this. 

By  the  fair  and  brave, 

Who  blushing  unite, 
Like  the  sun  and  the  wave, 

When  they  meet  at  night ! 

By  the  tear  that  shows 

When  passion  is  nigh, 
A.S  the  rain-drop  flows 

From  the  heat  of  the  sky  I 

Bv  the  first  love-beat 

Ji  me  youthfd  heart, 
By  the  bliss  to  meet, 
And  the  pain  to  Dart ! 

By  all  that  thou  hast 

To  mortals  given, 
Which — oh  !  could  it  last, 

This  earth  were  heaven ! 

*  The  blue  lotos,  which  grows  in  Caahmore  and  I 


62       THE   VEILED   PROPHET   OF   KHORASSAN. 

We  call  thce  hither,  entrancing  Power ! 

Spirit  of  Love  !  Spirit  of  Bliss ! 
Thy  holiest  time  is  the  moonlight  hour  ! 

And  there  never  was  moonlight  so  sweet  as 
this. 


Impatient  of  a  scene,  whose  luxuries  stole, 
Spite  of  himself,  too  deep  into  his  soul, 
And  where,  'midst  all  that  the  young  heart  loves 

most, 

Flowers,  music,  smiles,  to  yield  was  to  be  lost ; 
The  youth  had  started  up  and  turned  away 
From  the  light  nymphs  and  their  luxurious  lay 
To  muse  upon  the  pictures  that  hung  round, — 
Bright  images,  that  spoke  without  a  sound, 
And  views,  like  vistas  into  fairy  ground. 
But  here  again  new  spells  came  o'er  his  sense  , 
All  that  the  pencil's  mute  omnipotence 
Could  call  up  into  life,  of  soft  and  fair, 
Of  fond  and  passionate,  was  glowing  there, 
Nor  yet  too  warm,  but  touch'd  with  that  fine  art 
Which  paints  of  pleasure  but  the  purer  part; 
Which  knows  ev'n  beauty  when  half  veil'd  ia 

best, 

Like  her  own  radiant  planet  of  the  west, 
Whose  orb  when  half  retir'd  looks  loveliest! 
There  hung  the  history  of  the  Genii-King, 
Trac'd  through  each  gay  voluptuous  wandering 
With  her  from  S ABA'S  bowers,  in  wh  >se  bright 

eyes 


THE  VEILED  PROPHET  OF  KHORASSAN.   6i) 

He  read  that  to  be  blest  is  to  be  wise  ;* — 
Here  fond  ZuLEiKAt  woos  with  open  arms 
The  Hebrew  boy,  who  flies  from  her  young 

charms, 

Yet,  flying,,  turns  to  gaze,  and,  half  undone, 
Wishes  that  heaven  and  she  could  both  be  won ! 
And  here  MOHAMMED,  born  for  love  and  guile, 
Forgets  the  Koran  in  his  Mary's  smile ; — 
Then  beckons  some  kind  angel  from  above 
With  a  new  text  to  consecrate  their  love  !  t 

With  rapid  step,  yet  plcas'd  and  lingering  eye, 
Did  the  youth  pass  these  pictur'd  stories  by, 
And  hastened  to  a  casement,  where  the  light 
Of  the  calm  moon  came  in,  and  freshly  bright 
The  fields  without  were  seen,  sleeping  as  still 
As  if  no  life  remain'd  in  breeze  or  rill. 
Here  paused  he,  while  the  music,  now  less  near, 
Breath' d  with  a  holier  language  on  his  ear, 
As  though  the  distance  and  that  heavenly  ray 
Through  which  the  sounds  came  floating,  took 
away 

*  For  the  loves  of  King  Solomon,  [who  was  supposed  to 
preside  over  the  whole  race  of  Genii]  with  Balkis,  the 
Queen  of  sheha  or  Saba,  see  DULerbelot  and  the  Notes 
on  the  Korun,  Chap.  ii. 

tThe  wife  of  Poii[  har,  thus  named  by  the  Orientala 
Her  adventure  with  ihe  Patriarch  Joseph'isthe  subject  of 
many  of  their  poems  and  romances. 

jThtf  particulars  of  Mahomet's  amour  with  Mary,  the 
Coptic  girl,  in  justification  of  which  he  added  a  new  chap, 
ter  to  trie  Koran,  may  bf  foucd  in  Gugnier's  Notes  uj^on 
4&u-'<feda,  p.  lul. 


64       THE   VEILED   1T.OPHF.T   OF   KIIORASSAN. 

All  that  had  been  loo  earthly  in  the  lay. 
Oh  !  could  he  listen  to  such  sounds  unmov'd, 
And  by  that  light — nor  dream  of  her  he  lov'd  1 
Dream  on  unconscious    boy !    while  yet  thoy 

may'st; 

'Tis  the  last  bliss  thy  soul  shall  ever  taste. 
Clasp  yet  awhile  her  image  to  thy  heart, 
Ere  all  the  light,  that  made  it  dear,  depart. 
Think  of  her  smiles  as  when  thou  saw'st  them 

last, 

Clear,  beautiful,  by  nought  of  earth  o'ercast; 
Recall  her  tears,  to  thce  at  parting  given, 
Pure  as  they  weep,  if  angels  weep,  in  heaven  ' 
Think  in  her  own  still  bower  she  waits  thee  now 
With  the  same  glow  of  heart  and  bloom  of  brow, 
Yet  shrin'd  in  solitude — thine  all,  thine  only, 
Like  the  one  star  above  thee,  bright  and  lonelv  ! 
Oh  that  a  dream  so  sweet  so  long  enjoy'd, 
Should  be  so  sadly,  cruellv  deatroy'd  ! 

The  song  is  hush'd,  the  laughing  nymphs  are 

flown, 

And  he  is  left,  musing  of  bliss,  alone  ;— 
Alone  ? — no,  not  alone—that  heavy  sigh, 
That  sob  of  grief,  which  broke  from  some  era 

nigh— 

Whose  could  it  be  ? — alas !  is  misery  found 
Here,  even  here,  on  this  enchanted  ground? 
He  turns,  and  sees  a  female  form,  close  veil  d. 
Leaning  as  if  both  heart  and  strength  had  failed 
Against  a  pillar  near; — not  glittering  o'er 


THE  VEILED  iROPHET  OF  KIIORASSAN  .  65 

With  gems  and  wreaths,  such  as  the  others  wore, 
But  in  that  deep-blue  melancholy  dress,* 
BOKHARA'S  maidens  wear  in  mindfulness 
Of  friends  or  kindred,  dead  or  far  away  ; — 
And  such  as  ZELICA  had  on  that  day 
He  left  her — when,  with  heart  too  full  to  speak, 
He   took  away  her  last  warm  tears  upon  his 
check. 

A  strange  emotion  stirs  within  him, — more 
Than  mere  compassion  ever  waked  before  ; 
Unconsciously  he  opes  his  arms,  while  she 
Springs  forward,  as  with  life's  last  energy, 
But,  swooning  in  that  one  convulsive  bound. 
Sinks,  ere  she  reach  his  arms,  upon  the  ground ; — 
Her  veil  fails  off— her   faint  hands   clasp  his 

knees — 

'Tis  she  herself! — 'tis  ZELICA  he  sees  ! 
But,  ah,  so  pale,  so  chang'd — none  but  a  lover 
Could  in  that  wreck  of  beauty's  shrine  discover 
The  once  ador'd  divinity  !  ev'n  he 
Stood  for  some  moments  mute,  and  doubtingly 
Put  back  the  ringlets  from  her  brow,  and  gaz'd 
Upon  those  lids  where  once  such  lustre  blaz'd" 
Ere  he  could  think  she  was  indeed  his  own, 
Own  darling  maid,  whom  he  so  long  had  known 
In  joy  and  sorrow,  beautiful  m  both  ; 
Who,  e'en  when  grief  was  heaviest — when  loth 
He  left  her  for  the  wars — in  that  worst  hour 


«"  Depp-blue  is  their  mourning  co!or.M---7/o»n«wy. 
5 


66        THE  VEILED   PROFHE1    OF   KHORASSAN. 

Sat  in  her  sorrow  like  the  sweet  night-flow  3T,* 
When  darkness  brings  its  weeping  glories  out, 
And  spreads  its  sighs  like  frankincense  about ! 

"  Look  up,  my  ZELICA — one  moment  show 
Those  gentle  eyes  to  me,  that  I  may  know 
Thy  life,  thy  loveliness  is  not  all  gone, 
But  there,  at  least,  shines  as  it  ever  shone. 
Come,  look  upon  thy  AZIM — one  dear  glance, 
Like  those  of   old,   were    heaven !    whatevel 

chance 

Hath  brought  thee  here,  oh  !  'twas  ablessed  one ! 
There — my  sweet  lids — they  move — that  kisa 

halh  run 

Like  the  first  shoot  of  life  through  every  vein, 
And  now  I  clasp  her  mine,  all  mine  again ! 
Oh  the  delight — now,  in  this  very  hour, 
When,  had  the  whole  rich  world  been  in  my  powe» 
t  should  have  singled  out  thee,  only  thee, 
From  the  whole  world's  collected  treasury 
To  have  thee  here — to  hang  thus  fondly  o'er 
My  own  best  purest  ZELICA  once  more  !" 

It  was  indeed  the  touch  of  those  lov'd  lips 
Upon  her  eyes  that  chas'd  their  short  eclipse, 
And,  gradual  as  the  snow,  at  heaven's  breath. 
Melts  off  and  shows  the  azure  flowers  beneatn. 
Her  lids  unclos'd,  and  the  bright  eyes  were  seen 


*  The  Horrowful  nyctanthes,  wiich  begins  to  spread  U« 
rlfeh  odow  after  sunset 


THE   VEILED   PROPHET  OF   KHORAS3AN.       61 

Gazing  on  his — not  as  they  late  had  been, 
Quick,  restless,  wild — but  mournfully  serene  ; 
As  if  to  lie,  ev'n  for  that  tranc'd  minute, 
So  near  his  heart,  had  consolation  in  it ; 
And  thus  to  wake  in  his  beloved  caress 
Took  from  her  soul  one  half  its  wretchedness. 
But  when  she  heard  him  call  her  good  and  pure, 
Oh  'twas  too  much — too  dreadful  to  endure  ! 
Shuddering  she  broke  away  from  his  embrace, 
And,  hiding  with  both  hands  her  guilty  face, 
Said,  in  a  tone,  whose  anguish  would  have  riven 
A  heart  of  very  marble,"  pure  ! — oh!  heaven." 

That  tone — those  looks  so  chang'd — the  wither- 
ing blight 

That  sin  and  sorrow  leave  where'er  they  light— 
The  dead  despondency  of  those  sunk  eyes, 
•Where  once,  had  he  thus  met  her  by  surprise, 
He  would  have  seen  himself,  too  happy_  boy  ! 
Reflected  in  a  thousand  lights  of  joy  ; 
And  then  the  place,  that  bright  unholy  place, 
Where  vice  lay  hid  beneath  each  winning  grace 
And  charm  of  luxury,  as  the  viper  weaves 
Its  wily  covering  of  sweet  balsam-leaves  ;*— 
All  struck  upon  his  heart,  sudden  and  cold 
As  death  itself; — it  needs  not  to  be  told— 
No,  no — he  sees  it  all,  plain  as  the  brand 

*  "  Concerning  the  vipers,  which  Pliny  says  were  fre 
quent  among  Ilie  balsam-trees,  I  made  very  particular  in- 
juiry  :  several  were  brought  m*  alive,  both  in  Yambo  and 
1\dd*."--- 


£8    THE  VEILED  PROPHET  OF  EHORASSA.N, 

Of  burning  shame  can  mark— whate'er  the  hand 
That  could  from  heav'n  and  him  such  brightness 

sever, 

'Tis  done — toheav'n  and  him  she's  lost  for  ever ' 
It  was  a  dreadful  moment ;  not  the  tears, 
The  lingering,  lasting  misery  of  years, 
Could  match  that  minute's  anguish — all  the  word 
Of  sorrow's  elements  in  that  dark  burst, 
Broke  o'er  his  soul,  and,  with  one  crash  of  fate. 
Laid  the  whole  hopes  of  his  life  desolate  !  . 

"  Oh  !  curse  me  not,"  she  cried,  as  wild  he 

toss'd 
His  desperate  hand  tow'rds  hcav'u — "  though  I 

am  lost, 

Think  not  that  guilt,  that  falsehood  made  me  fall  ; 
No,  no — 'twas  grief,  'twas  madness  did  it  all! 
Nay,  doubt  me  not — though  all  my  love  hath 

ceas'd— 

I  know  it  hath — yet,  yet  believe,  at  least, 
That  every  spark  of  reason's  light  must  be 
Quench' d  in  this  brain,  ere  I  could  stray  from 

thee  ! 

They  told  me  thou  wert  dead — why,  AZIM,  why, 
Did  we  not  both  of  us  that  instant  die 
When  we  were  parted  ? — oh,  could' st  thou  but 

know 

With  what  a  deep  devotedness  of  wo 
I  wept  thy  absence — o'er  and  o'er  again 
Thinking  of  thee,  still  thee,  till  thought  grew  pain , 
And  memory,  like  a  drop,  that,  night  and  day 


HL.  re: LED  rnoniET  ^F  KUORASSAH, 

Fails  cold  and  ceaseless,  wore  my  heart  away  \ 
Didst  thou  but  know  how  pale  I  sat  at  home, 
My  eyes  still  turn'd  the  way  thou  weit  to  come. 
And,  all  the  long,  long  night  of  hope  and  fear, 
Thy  voice  and  step  still  sounding  in  my  ear — 
Oh  God !  thou  would' st  not  wonder,  tlwt,  at  last, 
When  every  hope  was  all  at  once  o'ercast, 
When  I  heard  frightful  voices  round  me  say 
Azim  is  dead  ! — this  wretched  brain  gave  way 
And  I  became  a  wreck  at  random  driven, 
Without  one  glimpse  of  rear  )n  or  of  Heaven—- 
All wild — and  ev'n  this  quenchless  love  within 
Turn'd  to  foul  fires  to  light  me  into  sin  ! 
Thou  pitiest  me — I  knew  thou  would' st — that 

sky 

Hath  nought  beneath  it  half  so  lorn  as  I. 
The  fiend,  who  lur'd   me   hither— hist !  come 

near, 

Or  thou  too,  thou  art  lost,  if  he  should  hear — 
Told  me  such  things — oh !  with  such  dev'lish  art. 
As" would  have  ruin'd  ev'n  a  holier  heart — 
Of  thee,  and  of  that  ever-radiant  sphere, 
Where,  bless'd  at  length,  if  I  but  serv'd  him 

here, 

I  should  forever  live  in  thy  dear  sight, 
And  drink  from  those  pure  eyes  eternal  light ! 
Think,  think  how  'ost,  how  madden'd  I  must  be. 
To  hope  that  guilt  could  lead  to  God  or  thee  ! 
Thou   weep'st  for  me — do,  weep — oh  !  that  J 

durst 
Kiss  of  that  uur  '  but,  no — these  lips  are  curst, 


70         THE  VEILFD  PROPHET  OF  £HOttASSAN. 

They  must  not  touch  thee ; — one  divine  caress 
One  blessed  moment  ot'  forgetfulness 
I've  had  within  those  arms,  und  that  shaW  lie, 
Shrined  in  my  soul's  deep  memory  till  I  die ' 
The.  last  of  joys  last  relics  here  below, 
The  one  sweet  drop  in  all  this  waste  of  wo, 
My  heart  has  treasur'd  from  affection's  spring, 
To  soothe  and  cool  its  deadly  withering  ! 
But  thou — yes,  thou  must  go — for  ever  go  ; 
This  place  is  not  for  thee— for  thee  !  oh  no  : 
Did  J  but  tell  thee  half,  thy  tortur'd  brain 
Would  burn  like  mine,  and  mine  go  wild  again ! 
Enough  that  guilt  reigns  here— that  hearts,  once 

good, 

Now  tainted,  chill' d  and  broken,  are  his  food. 
Enough,  that  we  are  parted — that  there  rolls 
A  flood  of  headlong  fate  between  our  souls, 
Whose  darkness  severs  me  as  wide  from  thee 
As  hell  from  heav'n,  to  all  eternity  !" — 

"ZELTCA!  ZELICA  !"  the  youth  exclaimed, 
In  all  the  tortures  of  a  mindinflam'd 
Almost  to  madness — "  by  that  sacred  Heav'n, 
Where  yet,  if  pray'rs  can  move,  thou' It  be  for 

given, 

As  thou  art  here — here,  in  ttm  writhing  heart, 
All  sinful,  wild,  and  ruin'd  as  thou  art ! 
By  the  remembrance  of  our  once  pure  love, 
Which,  like  a  church-yard  light,  still  burns  above 
The  grave  of  our  lost  souls — which  guilt  in  thea 
Cannot  extinguish,  nor  despair  in  me ! 


TilE  VEILED  FKOl'HET  OF  KHORASSAN.         71 

I  do  conjure,  implore  thee  to  fly  hence — 
If  thou  hast  yet  one  spark  of  innocence, 
Fly  with  me  from  this  place."- 

"  With  thee!  oh  bliss, 

'Tis  worth  whole  years  of  torment  to  hear  this. 
What !   take  the  lost  one  with  thee  ? — let  her 

rove 

By  thy  dear  side,  as  in  those  days  of  love, 
When  we  were  both  so  happy,  both  so  pure—- 
Too heavenly  dream  !  if  there's  on  v  'rth  a  cure 
For  the  sunk  heart,  'tis  this — day  afte.  day 
To  be  the  blest  companion  of  thy  way ; — 
To  hear  thy.  angel  eloquence — to  see 
Those  virtuous  eyes  for  ever  turn'd  on  me ; 
And  in  their  light  re-chasten'd  silently, 
Like  the  stain'd  web  that  whitens  in  the  sun, 
Grow  pure  by  being  purely  shone  upon ; 
And  thou  wilt  pray  for  me — I  know  thou  wilt— 
At  the  dim  vesper  hour,  when  thoughts  of  guilt 
Come  heaviesto'er  theheart,  thou' It  lift  thine  eyes, 
Full  of  sweet  tears,  unto  the  darkening  skies, 
And  plead  for  me  with  Heav'n,  till  I  can  dare 
To  fix  rny  own  weak,  sinful  glances  there; — 
Till  the  good  angels,  when  they  see  me  cling 
For  ever  near  thee,  pale  and  sorrowing, 
Shall  for  thy  sake  pronounce  my  soul  forgiven, 
And  bid  thee  take  thy  weeping  slave  to  heaven! 

Oh  yes,  I'll  f.y  with  thee." 

Scarce  had  she  said 

These  breathless  vords,  when  a  voice,  deep  and 
dread 


72  .    THE    VEILED    PROPHET   OF    KIIORASSAN. 

As  that  of  MONKER,  waking  up  the  dead 
From   their  first-  sleep — so  startling  'twas   to 

both — 
Rung  through  the  casement  near,  "  Thy  oath! 

thy  oath!" 

Oh  Heav'n,  the  ghastliness  of  that  maid's  look! — 
'  'Tis  he,"  faintly  she  cried,  while  terror  shook 
Her  inmost  core,  nor  durst  she  lift  her  eyes, 
Though  through  the  casement,  now,  nought  but 

the  skies 

And  moonlight  fields  were  seen,  calm  as  before — 
"  'Tis  he,  and  I  am  his — all,  all  is  o'er — 
Go — fly  this  instant,  or  thou  art  ruined  too — 
My  oath,  my  oath,  oh  God!  'tis  all  too  true, 
True  as  the  worm  in  this  cold  heart  it  is — 
I  am  MOKANNA'S  bride — his,  AZIM,  his. — 
The  Dead  stood  round  us  while  I  spoke  that  vow : 
Their  blue  lips  echo'dit-^-I  hear  them  now  ! 
Their  eyes  glar'd  on  me,  while  I  pledg'd  that 

bowl, 

'Twas  burning  blood — I  feel  it  in  my  soul . 
And  the  Veil'd  Bridegroom — hist!  I've  seen  to- 
night 

What  angels  know  not  of — so  foul  a  sight. 
So  horrible — oh  !  may'st  thou  never  see 
What  there  lies  hid  from  all  but  hell  and  me ! 
But  I  must  hence— off,  off— I  am  not  thine, 
Nor  Heav'n's,  nor    love's,  nor    aught  that  is 

divine — 
Flold  mi  not — ha  !•  -think' st  thou  the  fiends  that 


THE  VEILED  PROPHET  OF  KHORASSAW.         73 

Hearts,  cannot  sunder  hands?  -thus,  then — for 
ever !" 

With  all  that  strength  which  madness  lends 

the  weak, 

She  flung  away  his  arm  ;  and,  with  a  shriek,— 
Whose  sound,  .though  he  should  linger  out  more 

years 

Than  wretch  e'er  told,  can  never  leave  his  cars, — 
Flew  up  through  that  long  avenue  of  light, 
Fleetly  as  some  dark,  ominous  bird  of  night, 
Across  the  sun,  and  soon  was  out  of  sight. 

LALLA  ROOKII  could  think  of  nothing  all  day 
but  the  misery  of  these  two  young  lovers.  Her 
gayety  was  gone,  and  she  looked  pensively  even 
upon  FADLADEEN.  She  felt  too,  without  know 
ing  why,  a  sort  of  uneasy  pleasure  in  imagining 
that  AZIM  must  have  been  just  such  a  youth  as 
FEKAMOP.Z  ;  just  as  worthy  to  enjoy  all  the  bless- 
ings, without  any  of  the  pangs,  of  that  illusive 
passion,  which  too  often,  like  the  sunny  apples 
of  Istkahar,  is  all  sweetness  on  one  side,  and 
all  bitterness  on  the  other. 

As  they  passed  along  a  sequestered  river  after 
sunset,  they  saw  a  young  Hindoo  girl  upon  the 
bank,  whose  employment  seemed  to  them  so 
strange,  that  they  stopped  their  palankeens  tc 
observe  her.  She  had  1'ghted  a  small  lamp,  fill- 
ed w:th  oil  of  cocoa,  and  placing  it  in  an  earthen 
dish  adorned  with  a  w  -e.^-h  of  flowers  ha/1,  com 


1 


74       THE    VEILED  I ROPIIET  OF   KHCRASSiX. 

mitted  it  with  a  trembling  hand  to  the  stream, 
and  was  now  anxiously  watching  its  progress 
down  the  current,  heedless  of  the  gay  cavalcade 
which  had  drawn  up  beside  her.  LALLA  ROOKH 
was  all  curiosity : — when  one  of  her  attendants, 
who  had  lived  upon  the  banks  of  the  Ganges, 
(where  this  ceremony  is  so  frequent,  that  often, 
in  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  the  river  is  seen  glit- 
tering all  over  with  lights,  like  the  Oton-tala  or 
Sea  of  Stars,)  informed  the  Princess  that  it  was 
the  usual  way  in  which  the  friends  of  those  who 
had  gone  on  dangerous  voyages  offered  up  vows 
for  their  safe  return.  If  the  lamp  sunk  imme- 
diately, the  omen  was  disastrous  ;  but  if  it  went 
shining  down  the  stream,  and  continued  to  burn 
till  entirely  out  of  sight,  the  return  of  the  belov- 
ed object  was  considered  as  certain. 

LALLA  ROOKH,  as  they  moved  on,  more  than 
once  looked  back,  to  observe  how  the  young 
Hindoo's  lamp  proceeded;  and,  while  .she  saw 
with  pleasure  that  it  was  still  unextinguished, 
she  could  not  help  fearing  that  all  the  hopes  of 
this  life  were  no  better  than  that  feeble  light  up- 
on the  river.  The  remainder  of  the  journey  was 
passed  in  silence.  She  now,  for  the  first  time, 
felt  that  shade  of  melancholy,  which  comes  over 
the  youthful  maiden's  heart,  as  sweet  and  tran- 
sient as  her  own  breath  upon  a  mirror ;  nor  waa 
it  till  she  heard  the  lute  of  FERAMORZ,  touched 
lightly  at  the  door  of  her  pavilion,  that  she  waked 
from  the  reverie  in  which  she  hrd  been  wander- 


1 


THE   VEILED    I'KOi'LET   OF   KHORASSAN.       75 

ing.  Instantly  her  eyes  were  lighted  up  with 
pleasure,  and,  after  a  few  unheard  remarks  from 
FADLADEEN  upon  the  indecorum  of  a  poet  seating 
himself  in  presence  of  a  Princess,  every  thing 
was  arranged  as  on  the  preceding  evening,  and 
all  listened  with  cap-emess,  while  the  story  was 
thus  continued : — 

WHOSE  are  the  giidcd  tents  that  crowd  the  way, 
Where  all  was  waste  and  silent  yesterday  ? 
This  City  of  War,  which  in  a  few  short  hours, 
Hath  sprung  up  here,  as  if  the  magic  powers 
Of  him,  who,  in  the  twinkling  of  a  star, 
Built  the  high  pillar'd  halls  of  CHIIMINAR,* 
Had  conjur'd  up,  far  as  the  eye  can  see, 
This  world  of  tents,  and  domes,  and  sun-bright 

armory ' — 

Princely  pavilions,  screened  by  many  a  fold 
Of  crimson  cloth,  and  topp'd  with  balls  of  gold, 
Steeds,  with  their  housings  of  rich  silver  spun, 
Their  chains  and  poitrels  glittering  in  the  sun  ; 
And  camels  tufted  o'er  with  Yemen's  shells, 
Shaking  in  every  breeze  their  light-ton'd  bells! 

But  yester-eve,  so  motionless  around, 
So  mute  was  this  wide  plain  that  riot  a  sound 

•  The  edifices  of  Chilminar  and  Balbec  are  supposed 
to  have  been  built  by  the  Genii,  acting  under  the  orderi 
of  Jan  ben  Jan,  who  governed  the  world  long  before  th« 
time  of  Adam. 


76       THK   VEILED   PROPHET   OF    KHORASSA?J. 

But  the  far  torrent,  or  the  locust  bird* 
Hunting  among  the  thickets,  could  be  heard ;— 
Vet  hark  !  what  discords  now,  of  every  kind, 
Shouts,  laughs,  and  screams,  are  revelling  in  the 

wind ! 

The  neigh  of  cavalry ;  the  tinkling  throngs 
Of  laden  camels  and  their  driver's  songs  ;• 
Ringing  of  arms,  and  (lapping  in  the  breeze 
Of  streamers  from  ten  thousand  conopies  ; — 
War-music,  bursting  out  from  time  to  time 
With  gong  and  tymbalon's  tremendous  chime  ; 
Or,  in  the  pause,  when  harsher  sounds  are  mute, 
The  mellow  breathings  of  some  horn  or  flute, 
That,  far  off,  broken  by  the  eagle  note 
Of  the  Abyssinian  trumpet, t  swell  and  float ! 
Who    leads    this    mighty    army? — ask    ye 

"  who?" 

And  mark  ye  not  those  banners  of  dark  hue, 
The  Night  and  Shadow,!  over  yonder  tent  ?— 
It  is  the  CALIPH'S  glorious  armament. 
Rous'd  in  his  palace  by  the  dread  alarms, 
That  hourly  came,  of  the  false  Prophet's  arms, 

*  A  native  of  Khorassan,  and  allured  southward  bj 
means  of  the  water  of  a  fountain,  between  Shiraz  and 
Ispahan,  called  the  Fountain  of  Birds,  of  which  it  is  so 
fond  that  it  will  follow  wherever  that  water  is  carried. 

f  "  This  Trumpet  is  often  called  in  Abjssinia,  nesserca- 
nf),  which  signifies,  The  note  of  the  Eagle.  "—Note  of 
Bruce' s  Editor. 

+  The  two  black  standards  borne  before  the  Caliphs  of 
the  house  of  Abb?  s,  were  called,  ailegorically,  the  Nigh1 
and  \he  Shadow.  See  Gibbon. 


T3E  VEILED  PROPHET  OF  KHORASSAN.         73 

A.nd  of  his  host  of  infidel's,  who  hurl'd 
Defiance  fierce  at  Islam*  and  the  world  ;- 
Though  worn  with  Grecian  warfare,  and  behini 
The  veils  of  his  bright  palace  calm  reclin'd. 
Yet  brook'd  he  not  such  blasphemy  should  stain, 
Thus  unreveng'd,  the  evening  of  his  reign ; 
But,  having  sworn  upon  the  Holy  Gravet 
To  conquer  or  to  perish,  once  more  gave 
His  shadowy  banners  proudly  to  the  breeze, 
A.nd,  with  an  army  nurs'd  in  victories, 
Here  stands  to  crush  the  rebels  that  o'er-run 
His"  blest  and  beauteous  Province  of  the  Sun. 

Ne'er  did  the 'march  of  MAHADI  display 
ouch  pomp  before  ; — not  e'n  when  on  his  way 
To  MEOHA'S  Temple,  when  both  land  and  sea 
IVere  spoil'd  to  feed  the  pilgrim's  luxury  ;t 
vVhen  round  him,  'mid  the  burning  sands,  he  saw 
Fruits  of  the  North,  in  icy  freshness  thaw, 
A.nd  cool'd  his  thirsty  lip  beneath  the  glow 
Of  MECCA'S  sun  ,with  urns  of  Persian  snow  ;$ 
Nor  e'er  did  armament  more  grand  than  that, 
Pour  from  the  kingdoms  of  the  CaRphat. 


*  The  Mahometan  Religion. 

t  "  The  Persians  svrear  by  the  tomb  of  Shah  Besade, 
»-ho  is  buried  at  Casbin ;  and  when  one  desires  anolhei 
to  a«s"verale  a  matter,  he  will  ask  him  if  he  dare  swear  by 
the  Holy  Grave." .--Stray. 

t  Mahadi,  in  a  single  pilgrimage  to  Mecr.a,  expended 
BIX  millions  of  dinars  of  gold. 

(i  "  Nivem  Meccam  apportavit,  iein  i!ii  aut  nur.quam  avt 


78       THE  VEILED  PROPHET  OF   KHOKASSAN. 

First,  in  the  van,  the  People  of  the  Rock,* 
On  their  light  mountain  steeds,  of  Royal  stock  ;1 
Then  Chieftains  of  DAMASCUS,  proud  to  see 
The  flashing  of  their  swords'  rich  marquetry ;} 
Men  from  the  regions  near  the  VOLGA'S  mouth, 
Mix'd  with  the  rude,  black  archers  of  the  South , 
And  Indian  lancers,  in  white  turban' d  ranks, 
From  the  far  SINDE,  or  ATTOCK'S  sacred  banks, 
With  dusky  legions  from  the  land  of  Myrrh,§ 
And  many  a  mace  arm'd  Moor,  and  Mid -sea 

islander. 

Nor  less  in  number,  though  more  new  and  rude 
In  warfare's  school  was  the  vast  multitude 
That,  fir'd  by  zeal  or  by  oppression  wrong'd, 
Round  th'  white  standard  of  th'  Impostorthrong'd. 
Besides  his  thousands  of  Believers, — blind, 
Burning  and  headlong  as  the  Samiel  wind,— 
Many  who  felt,  and  more  who  fear'd  to  feel 
The  bloody  Islamite's  converting  steel, 
Flock' d  to  his  banner  ; — Chiefs  of  the  UZBECK 

race, 


*  The  inhabitants  of  Hejas  or  Arabia  Petrze,  called  hy 
an  Eastern  writer  "  The  People  of  the  Rock.."-- -.Sin 
Haukal. 

|"  Those  horses,  called  hy  the  Arabians  KocMani,  of 
whom  a  written  genealogy  has  been  kept  for  2000  years. 
Thay  are  said  to  derive  their  origin  from  King  Solomon's 
steeds.  "---Niebuhr. 

J'«  Many  of  the  figures  on  -he  blades  of  their  sword« 
a?e  wrought  in  gold  and  silver  or  m  marquetry  withsmnJJ 
9  ?ms."--.#sia/.  Jllifc,  vol.  i. 


THE  VEILED  PROPRET  OF  KHORASSAN.         75 

Waving  their  heron  crests  with  martial  grac-e  ;* 
TURKOMANS,  countless  as  their  flocks,  led  forth 
From  the  aromatic  pastures  of  the  North  ; 
Wild  warriors  of  the  turquoise  hills t — and  those 
Who  dwell  beyond  the  everlasting  snows 
Of  HINDOO  KosH,t  in  stormy  freedom  bred, 
Their  fort  the  rock,  their  camp  the  torrent's  bed. 
But  none,  of  all  who  owned  the  Chiefs*  com- 
mand, 

Rush'd  to  the  battle  field  with  bolder  hand, 
Or  sterner  hate,  than  IRAN'S  out-law'd  men, 
Her  worshippers  of  fire$— all  panting  then 
For  vengeance  on  the  accursed  Saracen ; 
Vengeance  at  last  for  their  dear  country  spurn'd, 
Her  throne  usurp'd,  and  her  bright  shrines  o'er- 

turn'd, 

From  YEZD'S!!  eternal  mansion  of  the  Fire, 
Where  aged  saints  in  dreams  of  Heav'n  expire ; 

*  "  The  Chiefs  of  the  Uzbec  Tartars  wear  a  plurrm  of 
irhite  heron's  feathers  in  their  lurbans.  "•-  -Account  of  In* 
dependent  Tartary. 

t "  In  the  mountains  of  Nishapour,  and  Tous,  in  Kho- 
rnssan,  thej  find  turquoises. ---Elm  Jiaukal. 

I  For  a  description  of  these  stupendous  ranges  of 
•nountains,  see  Elphinstone's  Cuubul. 

$  The  Ohebers  or  Guebres,  those  original  natives  of 
Persia,  who  adhered  to  their  ancient  faith,  the  religion  of 
Zoroaster,  and  who,  after  the  conquest  of  their  country 
bj  the  Arabs,  were  either  persecuted  at  home,  or  forced 
to  become  wanderers  abroad. 

8"  Yezd,  the  chief  residence  of  those  ancient  natives, 
who  worship  the  Sun  and  the  Fire,  which  latter  they  hare 
carefully  k?p*  li^htr-d,  tvithont  being-  once  extinguished 


CA 

BO         THE  VEILED  PROPHET  OF  KH{  RA.SSAW. 

From  BADICU,  und  those  fountains  of  blue  flami 
That  burn  into  the  CASPIAN,*  fierce  they  came, 
Careless  for  what  or  whom  the  blow  was  sped, 
So  vengeance  triumph' d  and  their  tyrants  bled! 

Such  was  the  wild  and  miscellaneous  host, 
That  high  in  air  their  motley  banners  tost 
Around  the  Prophet  Chief — all  eyes  still  bent 
Upon  that  glittering  Veil,  where'er  it  went, 
That  beacon  through  the  battle's  stormy  flood, 
That  rainbow  of  the  field,  whose  showers  were 

blood  ! 

Twice  hath  the  sun  upon  their  conflict  set, 
And  ris'n  again,  and  found  them  grappling  yet; 
While  steams  of  carnage  in  his  noon-tide  blaze, 
Smoke  up  to  heav'n — hot  as  that  crimson  haze 
By  which  the  prostrate  Caravan  .is  aw'd, 
In  the  red  desert  when  the  wind's  abroad"! 
"On,  swords  of  God!"  the  panting  CALIPH 

calls— 
"  Thrones  for  the  living — Heav'n  for  him  whc 

falls !" 

"  On  brave  avengers,  on,"  MOKANNA  cries, 
"  And  EELIS  blast  the  recreant  slave  that  flies  !' ' 

for  a  moment  above  3000  years,  on  a  mountain  rear 
Yezd,  called  Ax.*r  Quedah,  signifying  Ihe  House  or  Man- 
sion of  the  Fire.  He  ia  reckoned  very  unfortunate  who 
lies  off  that  mountain. "—-Stephen's  Ptrs-'.a. 

*"  When  the  weather  is  hazy,  the  springs  of  Naptha 
(on  an  island  near  Baku)  boil  up  higher,  and  the  Naptha 
often  takes  6re  on  Die  surface  of  the  earth,  and  runs  in  a 
flame  into  the  sea,  1o  a  dX'a^e  a'.mcst  incredible  ''••• 
on  tJie  c yerlnsti-g  f>~?  rl  rinfa.- 


THE  VEILED  PROPHET  OJ   KJiJRASSA*.  3l 

Wow  comes  ihc  brunt,  the  crisis  of  the  day  — 
They  clash — they  strive — the  CALIPH'S  troops 

give  way ! 

MOKANNA'S  self  plucks  the  black  banner  down, 
And  now  the  Orient  World's  imperial  crown 
Is  just  within  his  grasp — when,  hark  !  that  shout 
Some  hand  hath  check' d  the  flying  Moslem's 

rout; 

And  now  they  turn — they  rally — at  their  head 
A  warrior,  (like  those  angel  youths  who  led, 
In  glorious  panoply  of  heaven's  own  mail, 
The  Champions  of  the  Faith  through  BEDAR'B 

vale,)* 

Bold  as  if  gifted  with  ten  thousand  lives, 
Turns  on  the  fierce  pursuers'  blades,  and  drives 
At  once  the  multitudinous  torrent  back, 
While  hope  and  courage  kindle  in  his  track, 
And,  at  each  step,  his  bloody  falchion  makes 
Terrible  vistas,  through  which  victory  breaks  ! 
In  vain  MOKANNA,  'midst  the  general  flight, 
Stands,  like  the  red  moon,  on  some  stormy  night, 
Among  the  fugitive  clouds  that,  hurrying  by, 
Leave  only  her  unshaken  in  the  sky  ! — 
In  vain  he  yells  his  desperate  curses  out, 
iJeals  death  promiscuously  to  all  about, 
To  foes  that  charge,  and  coward  friends  that  fly, 


*  In  1he  great  victory  gained  by  Mahomed  at  Bednr,  he 
•vas  assisted,  fay  ihe  MuMulnMbt,  by  Iliee  thousand  au 
'"is.  led  by  Gabriel,  imuintrd  on  his  hoise  Hia/xitn.--- 
The  KtruA  and  its  <  omiiienlarort. 
I. 


82       THE   V.EILEI       ROPHET    3F    KHOHASSAN. 

And  seems  of  alt  the  Grea*.  Arch-enemy ' 
The  panic  spreads — "  a  miracle  !"  throughout 
The  Moslem  ranks,  "  a  miracle  !"  they  shout 
All  gazing  on  that  youtb,  whose  coming  seems 
A  light      glory,  such  as  breaks  in  dreams  ; 
Ai.d  e\<3ry  sword,  true  as  o'er  billows  dim 
The  needle  tracks  the  load-star,  following  him  ! 
Right  tow'rds  MOKANNA  now  he  cleaves  his 

path, 

Impatient  cleaves,  as  though  the  bolt  of  wrath 
He  bears  from  Heav'n  withheld  its  awful  burst 
From  weaker  heads,  and  souls  but  half- way  curst , 
To  break  o'er  him,  the  mightiest  and  the  worst ! 
But  vain  his  speed — though  in  that  hour  of  Wood, 
Had  all  God's  seraphs  round  MOKAJSNA  stood, 
With  swords  of  fire,  ready  like  fate  to  fall, 
MOKANTTA'S  rvul  would  have  defied  them  all  .— 
Yet  now  the  rush  of  fugitives,  too  strong, 
For  human  force,  hurries  e'en  him  along; 
In  vain  he   struggles  'mid  the  wedg'd  array 
Of  flying  thousands, — he  is  borne  away; 
And  the  sole  joy  his  baffled  spirit  knows 
Tn  this  forced  flight  is — murdering  as  he  gcxje  ! 
4s  a  grim  tiger,  whom  the  torrent's  might 
Surprises  in  some  parch' d  ravine  at  night, 
Turns  e'en  in  drowning,  on  the  wretched  flocki 
Swept  with  him  in  that  snow-flood  from  the  rocLs. 
And  to  the  last   devouring  on  his  w?.y, 
Bloodies  the  stream  he  hath  not  power  tostiy 
"  Alia  ii  Alia  !'* — the  glad  shout  renew— 


THE   VEILED    PROPHET   C?    tHORASSAN.       83 

<4Alla  Abkar!"*  —  the  Caliph's  in  MEROU. 
Hang  out  your  gilded  tapestry  in  the  streets. 
\nd  light  your  shrines,  and  chaunt  your  zira- 

leets;t 
/he  swords  of  God  have   triumph'd  —  on  hia 

throne 
four  Caliph   sits,   and  the  Veil'd  Chief  halh 

flown. 

•Vho  does  not  envy  that  young  warrior  now, 
To  whom  the  Lord  of  Islam  bends  his  brow, 
[n  all  the  graceful  gratitude  of  power, 
For  his  throne's  gaiety  in  that  perilous  hour? 
Who  does  not  wonder,  when,  amidst  th'  acclaim 
Of  thousands,  heralding  to  heaven  his  name— 
'Mid  all  those  holier  harmonies  of  fame, 
Which  sound  along  the  path  of  virtuous  souls 
Like  music  round  a  planet  as  it  "rolls! 
He  turns  away  coldly  as  if  some  gloom 
Hung  o'er  his  heart  no  triumphs  can  illume  ;— 
Some  sightless  grief,  upon  whose  blasted  gaze 
Though  glory's  light  may  play,  in  vain  it  plays. 
Ves,  wretched  AZIM  !  thine  is  such  a  grief, 
Beyond  all  hope,  all  terror,  all  relief; 
A  dark,  coid  calm,  which  nothing  now  can  break, 
Or  warm  or  brighten,  —  like  that  Syrian  Lake.j 


*  The  lechbir,  or  cry  of  the  Arabs,  "  Alia  ALkar  !''  saj« 

dder,  means,  "  God  is  most  rniglily." 

f  The  zlraleei  is  a  kind  of  chorus,  which  ilie  women  of 

e  East  sing  upyr  xsjful  occasion*. 

t  The  Dead   See  .'  fhicli    contains  ne'ther  animal  n« 


84  THE  VEILED  PROPHET  OF  KHORASSAN. 

Upon  whose  surface  morn  and  summer  shed 
Their  smiles  in  vain,  for  all  beneath  is  dead . 
Hearts  there  have  been,  o'er  which  this  weig!n 

of  wo 

Came  by  long  use  of  suffering,  tame  and  slovt  , 
But  thine,  lost  youth  !  was  sudden — over  thee 
t  broke  at  once,  when  all  seem'd  ecstacy  ; 
When  Hope  look'd  up,  and  saw  the  gloomy  Past 
Melt  into  splendor,  and  Bliss  dawn  at  last— 
Twas  then,  ev'n  then,  o'er   joys  so  freshly 

blown, 

This  moital  blight  of  misery  came  down ' 
Ev'n  then,  the  full,  warm  gushings  of  thy  heart 
Were  check' d — like  fount-drops,  frozen  as  they 

start ! 

And  there,  like_lhem,  cold,  sunless  relics  hang 
Each  fix'd  and  chill'd  into  a  lasting  pang  ! 

One  sole  desire,  one  passion  now  remains, 
To  keep  life's  fever  still*within  his  veins,— 
Vengeance  ! — dire  vengeance  on  the  wretch  who 

cast 

O'er  him  and  all  he  lov'd  that  ruinous  blast. 
For  thi?,  when  rumors  reach' d  him  in  his  flight 
Far,  far  away  after  that  fatal  night, — 
Rumors  of  armies,  thronging  to  th'  attack 
Of  the  Veil'd  Chief,— ^for  this  he  wing'd  him 

back, 

Fleet  as  the  vulture  speeds  to  flags  unfurl' d, 
And  came  when  all  seem'd  lost,  and  wildly 

hurl'd 
MiniseJT  into  the  scale,  and  savM  a  world  • 


THE   VEILED    PKXmET   OF   KHORASSA.V.       83 

For  this  he  still  lives  on,  careless  of  all 
The  wreaths  that  glory  on  his  path  lets  fall ; 
For  this  alone  exists — like  lightning-fire 
To  speed  one  bolt  of  vengeance,  and  expire  ! 

But  safe  as  yet,  that  spirit  of  evil  lives  ; 
With  a  small  band  of  desperate  fugitives, 
That  last  sole  stubborn  fragment,  left  unriven 
Of  the  proud  host  that  late  stood  fronting  heaven, 
He  gain'd  MEKOU — breath' d  a  short  curse   oi 

blood 
O'er  his  lost  throne — then  pass'd  the  JIHON'S 

flood,* 

And  gathering  all,  whose  madness  or  belrof 
Still  saw  a  Saviour  in  their  dovvnfall'n  Chief, 
Rais'd  the  white  banner  within  NEKSHEB'S 

gates,  t 
And  there,  untam'd,  th1  approaching  conqueror 

waits. 

•Of  all  his  haram,  all  that  busy  hive, 
With  music  and  with  sweets  sparkling  alive, 
He  took  but  one,  the  partner  of  his  flight, 
One,  not  for  love — not  for  her  beauty's  light — 
For  ZELICA  stood  withering  'midst  the  gay, 
Wan  as  the  blossom  that  fell  yesterday 
From  the  Alma  tree  and  dies,  while  overhead 
To-day's  young  flowers  springing  in  its  stead  !  ( 


*  T!.p  ancient  Oxus. 
t  A  city  of  Transoxinnia. 

I  "  You  never  can  cast  vDur  eyes  en  this  tree,  but  jo» 
-nee*  ch»re  either  Musaoma  ?r  fruit;  nud  as  the  rloa«or» 


%        THE    VEILED   FKOPKET   (.  F   KIIO7.ASSAU. 

No,  not  foi  love — the  deepest  Janm'd  uit'.st  be 
Touch' d  with  heaven's  glory,  ere  such  fiends  a* 

he 

Can  feel  one  glimpse  of  love's  divinity  ! 
But  no,  she  is  his  victim; — there  lie  all 
Her  charms  for  him — charms  that  can  never  pall 
As  long  as-  hell  within  his  heart  can  stir, 
Pr  one  faint  trace  of  heaven  is  left  in  her. 
To  work  an  angel's  ruin, — to  behold 
As  white  a  page  as  virtue  e'er  unroll' d 
Blacken  beneath  his  touch,  into  a  scroll 
Of  damning  sins,  seal'd  with  a  burning  soul — 
This  is  iris  triumph  ;  this  the  joy  accurst, 
That  ranks  him,  among  demons,  all  but  first ! 
This  gives  the  victim,  that  before  him  lies 
Blighted  and  lost,  a  gloiy  in  his  eyes, 
A  light  as  that  with  which  hell-fire  illumes 
The    ghastly,  writhing  wretch  whom  if   con- 
sumes ! 
But  other  tasks   i  ow  wait  him — tasks  tha. 

need 

All  the  deep  daringness  of  thought  and  deed 
With  which   the  Dives*  have  gifted  him — for 

mark, 

Over  yon   plains,  which  night  had  else  made 
dark, 


4rops  underneath  on  the  pound,  (which  is  frequent",} 
overed  with  these  purple-coloured  flowers,)  othert  com* 
Irth  in  their  stead."  e\c,..e\.c.---Nieuhqff. 
*  The  I>»mons  of  Persian  mythology. 


THE    VEILED    ^KU?iIKT    JF    KIIORAXSAN.        87 

Those  lanterns,  countless  as  the  \vinged  lights 
That  spangle  INDIA'S  fieldson  showery  nights  * — 
Far  as  their  formidable  gleams  they  shed, 
The  mighty  tents  of  the  beleagu'rer  spread, 
Glimmering  along  th'  horizon's  dusky  line, 
And  thence  in  nearer  circles,  till  they  shine 
Among  the  founts  and  groves,  o'er  which  the 

town 

In  all  its  arm'd  magnificence  looks  down. 
Yet,  fearless,  from  his  lofty  battlements 
MOKANNA  views  that  multitude  of  tents ; 
Nay,  smiles  to  think  that,  though  entoil'd,  beset, 
Not  less  than  myriads  dare  to  front  him  yet  ;— 
That,  friendless,  throneless,  he  thus  stands  at 

bay, 

E'en  thus  a  match  for  myriads  such  as  they ! 
"  Oh !  for  a  sweep  of  that  dark  angel's  wing, 
Who  brush'd  the  thousands  of  th'  Assyrian  Kingl 
To  darkness  in  a  moment,  that  I  might 
People  hell's  chambers  with  yon  host  to-night! 
But  come  what  may,  let  who  will  grasp  the 

throne, 

Caliph  or  Prophet,  Man  alike  shall  groan; 
Let   who.  will    torture    him,    Priest — Caliph- 
King— 
Alike  this  loathsome  world  of  his  shaH  ring 

: 

*  Carreri    mentions  the  fire-files  in   India  during  th« 
rainy  season. ---See  his  Travels. 

t  Sennacherib,  celled  bj  the  orientals  King 
•tl.-  -IPHerbdot. 


88       THE    VEILED    TKOPIIET    OF    KHCKASSAJN. 

With  victims'  shrieks  and  bowlings  of  the  slave-' 
Sounds,   that  shall  glad  me  ev'n  within  my 

grave." 

Thus  to  himself — but  to  the  scanty  train 
Still  left  around  him,  a  far  different  strain: — 
"  Glorious  defenders  of  the  sacred  Crown 
I  bear  from  Heav'n,  whose  light,  nor  blood  shall 

drown 
Nor  shadow  of  earth  eciipse ; — before  wboas 

gems 

The  paly  pomp  of  this  world's  diadems, 
The  crown  of  GF.HASHID,  the  pillar'd  throne 
Of  PARVIZ,*  and  the  heron  crest  that  shone, t 
Magnificent,  o'er  ALI'S  beauteous  eyes,! 
Fade  like  the  stars  when  morn  is  in  the  skies : 
Warriors,   rejoice — the   port,   to  which  we've 

pass'd 

O'er  destiny's  dark  wave,  beams  out  at  last! 
Victory's  our  own — 'tis  written  in  that  Book 
Upon  whose  leaves  none  but  the  angels  look, 
That  ISLAM'S  sceptre  shall  beneath  the  power 
Of  her  great  foe  fall  broken  in  that  hour, 
When  the  moon's  mighty  orb,  before  all  eyes 


*  Chosroes.     For  a  description  of  his  Throne  or  Pa 
lace,  see  Gibbon,  and  WHerbdot. 

f  "  The  crown  of  Gerashid  is  cloudy  and  tarnished  be- 
fore Ihe  heron  tuft  of  thy  turban. "---From  one  of  the 
elegies  or  songs  in  praise  of  Ali,  written  in  characters  oi 
gold  round  the  gallery  of  Abbas's  tcmb.---See  Chardin 
Thebeauiy  ofAli's  ejos  was  so  remarkable,  that 
Porlians  woold  describe  any  thing  as 


THE   VEILED    PROPHET   OF   KIKiRASS^N.       89 

From  NEKSHEB'S  Holy  Well  portentiously  shaM 

rise! 
Now  turn  and  see  !" — 

They  turn'd,  and,  as  he  spoke, 
A  sudden  snlendor  all  around  them  broke, 
And  they  beheld  an  orb,  ample  and  bright, 
Rise  from  the  Holy  Well,  and  cast  its  light 
Round  the  rich  city  and  the  plain  for  miles*— 
Flinging  such  radiance  o'er  the  gilded  tiles 
Of  many  a  dome  and  fair-roof'd  manaret, 
As  autumn  suns  shed  round  them  when  they  set 
Instant  from  all  who  saw  th'  illusive  sign 
A  murmur  broke — "  Miraculous  !  divine !" 
The  Gheber  bow'd,  thinking  his  idol  Star 
Had  wak'd,  and  burst  impatient  through  the  bat 
Of  midnight,  lo  inflame  him  to  the  war! 
While  he  of  MOUSSA'S  creed,  saw,  in  that  ray, 
The  glorious  light  which,  in  his  freedom's  day, 
Had  rested  on  the  Ark,t  and  now  again 
Shone  out  to  bless  the  breaking  of  his  chain ! 

"To  victory  !"  is  at  once  the  cry  of  all — 
Nor  stands  MOKANNA  loitering  at  that  call; 


tliej  say  it  is  Ayn  Hali,  or   the   Eyes  of  Al\."'~Ckar- 

din. 

*  "  II  amusm  pendant  deux  mois  le  peuple  de  la  villa  de 
Nekhscheb  en  faisant  sortir  <oufes  lesnuilsdu  fond  d'nn 
puite  un  corps  lumineux  semblable  a  la  Lune,qui  portait 
§a  lumiere  jusqu'a  la  distance  de  plusieurs  mille*."--- 
D'Herbtlot.  Hence  he  was  callad  Sazendehmah,  or  the 
Moon -maker. 

t  The  Shechmah  ;a"ed  Sakinet  in  the  Kora»  ---Se* 
fcfe'»  Note,  chap,  i 


90       THE    VEiLED    PROPHET   VI    XHDRASSAN. 

But  instant  the  huge  gates  are  flung  aside, 
And  forth,  like  a  diminutive  mountain-tide 
Into  the  boundless  sea,  they  speed  their  course 
Riaht  on  into  the  MOSLEM'S  mighty  force. 
The  watchmen  of  the   camp— who,   m    tneu 


rounas 


rounds,  , 

Had  paus'd  and  e'en  forgot  the  punctual  sounds 
Of  the  small  drum  with  which  they  count  the 

night,* 

T-y  gaze  upcp  that  supernatural  light- 
Now  sinks  beneath  an  unexpected  arm, 
And  in  a  death-groan  give  their  last  alarm. 
"  On  for  the  lamps  'hat  light  yon  lofty  screen.t 
Nor  blunt  your  blades  with  massacre  so  mean ; 
There  rests  the  CALIPH— speed— one  lucky  lance 
May  now  achieve  mankind's  deliverance! 
Desperate  the  die— such  as  they  only  cast, 
Who  venture  for  a  world,  and  stake  their  last. 
But  Fate's  no  longer  with  him  -blade  tor  blade 
Springs  up  to  meet  them  through  the  glimmei- 

ing  shade, 

And,  as  the  clash  is  heard,  new  lag'.ons  soon 
Pour  to  the  spot— like  bees  of  KAUS  SROOHl 

*  The  parts  of  the  night  are  made,  knowr  as  well  by  in- 
•tmmenta  of  music,  as  by  the  round?  of  the  watchmen 
with  cries  and  small  drums. --See  Burdei*.  Oriental  Cus 

f  «  The  Serrapurda,  high  screens  of  red  doth,  stiffened 
with  cane,  used  lo  enclose  a  considerable  sKace  round  the. 
roval  tents. "---Notes  on  the  JBakardanush. 

Jt  «  From  the  -roves  of  orange  trees  at  Y  flMzeroon  th« 
bees  cull  a  celebrated  h-ney  »— Miner's  Travtls. 


THL    VULED    riiOniET   OF    ii  muRASSAN.       'J 

To  the  s.irrl  timbrel's  summoi  s — till,  at  length, 
The  mighty  camp  swarms  out  in  all  its  strength, 
And  back  to  NEKSHEB'S  gates,  covering  the  plain 
Will;  random  slaughter,  drives  the  adventurous 

train ; 

Among  the  last  of  \\hom,  the  silver  Veil 
Is  seen  glittering  at  times,  like  the  white  sail 
Of  some  tofis'd  vessel,  on  a  stormy  night 
Catching  the  tempest's  momentary  light ! 

And  hath  not  this  brought  the  proud  spirit  low  ? 
Nor  dash'cl  his  brow,  nor  chcck'd  his  daring?  No. 
Though  ha'f  the  wretches,  whom  at  night  he  led 
To  throne?  and  victory,  lie  disgrac'd  and  dead, 
Yet  morning  hears  him,  with  unshrinking  crest 
Still  vaunt  of  thrones,  and  victory  to  the  rest. 
And  they  believed  him  ! — oh,  the  lover  may 
Distrust  thrt  look  which  steals  his  soul  away  ; — 
The  babe  may  cease  to  think  that  it  can  play 
With  heaven's  rainbow — alchymists  may  doubt 
The  shining  gold  their  crucible  gives  out ; 
But  Faith,  fanatic  Faith,  once  wedded  fast 
To  some  dear  falsehood,  hugs  it  to  the  last. 

j^nd  well  th'  Impostor  knew  all  lures  and  arts, 
That  Lucii'HR  e'er  taught  to  tangle  hearts  ; 
Nor,  'mid  these  last  bold  workings  of  his  plot 
Against  men's  souls,  is  ZEI^CA  forgot. 
Ill-fated  ZH.LICA  !  had  reason  been 
Awake,  through  half  the  horrors  thou  hast  seen 
Thou  never  could' st  have  borne  it — Death  had 

come 
At  once  and  takci?  thy  wrung  r.pirit  home. 


^2       THE   VEILEL    IKOPHET   OF   KHCKASSAW. 

But  'twas  not  so — a  torpor,  a  suspense 
Of  thought,  almost  of  life,  came  o'er  tli'  intense 
And  passionate  struggles  of  that  fearful  night, 
When  her  last  hope  of  peace  and  heav'n  took 

flight : 

And  though,  at  times,  a  gleam  of  frenzy  broke, 
As  through  some  dull  volcano's  veil  of  smoke 
Ominous  flashings  now  and  then  will  start, 
Which  show  the  fire's  still  busy  at  its  heart ; 
Vet  was  she  mostly  wrapp'd  in  sullen  gloom, 
Not  such  as  AZIM'S,  brooding  o'er  its  doom, 
And  calm  without,  as  is  the  brow  of  death, 
While  busy  worms  are  gnawing  underneath  ! — 
But  in  a  blank  and  pulseless  torpor,  free 
From  thought  or  pain,  a  seal'd  up  apathy, 
Which  left  her  oft,  with  scarce  one  living  thrill, 
The  cold  pale  victim  of  her  torturer's  will.' 
Again  as  in  MEROU,  he  had  her  deck'd, 
Gorgeously  out,  the  Priestess  of  the  sect  ; 
And  led  her  glittering  forth  before  the  eyes 
Of  his  rude  train,  as  to  a  sacrifice; 
Pallid  as  she,  the  young,  devoted  Bride 
Of  the  fierce  NILE  ,when,  deck'd  in  all  the  pride 
Of  nuptial  pomp,  she  sinks  into  his  tide  !* 


*  "  A  custom  still  subsisting  fit  this  day,  seems  tome  to 
prove  that  the  Egyptians  formerly  sacrificed  a  young  vir- 
gin lo  the  god  of  the  Nile  ;  for  they  now  make  a  statue  of 
earth  in  the  shape  of  a  girl,  to  which  they  give  the  name  oi 
the  Betrotl  ed  Bride,  and  throw  it  into  the  river. "---H* 
vary. 


1HE  VEILED  rixOl'HET  OF  KHORAS5AI*.         93 

And  while  the  wretched  maid  hung  down  her 

head, 

And  stood  as  one  just  risen  from  the  dead, 
Amid  that  gazing  crowd,  the  fiend  would  tell 
His  credulous  slaves  it  was  some  chaim  or  spoil 
Possessed  her  now, — and  from  that  darken'd 

trance 

Should  dawn  ere  long  their  Faith's  deliverance. 
Or  if,  at  times,  goaded  by  guilty  shame, 
Her  soul  was  rous'd,  and  words  of  wildnesa 

came, 

Instant  the  bokl  blasphemer  would  translate 
Her  ravings  into  oracles  of  fate, 
Would  hail  Heav'n's  signals  in  her  flashing  eyes 
And  call  her  shrieks  the  language  of  the  skies ! 

But  vain  at  length  his  arts — despair  is  seen 
Gathering  around  ;  and  famine  comes  to  jrlean 
All  that  the  sword  had  left  unreap'd  :— nn  vain 
At  morn  and  eve  across  the  northern  plain 
He  looks  impatient  for  the  promis'd  spears 
Of  the  wild  hordes  and  TARTAR  mountaineers. 
They  come  not — while  his  fierce  beleagucrert 

pour 

Engines  of  havoc  in,  unknown  before, 
And  horrible  as  new  ;* — javelins,  'hat  fly 


*  The  Grepk  fire,  which  was  occasional!?  lent  by  th« 
fimperors  !o  thf-ir  allies.  "  It  was,"  Bays  Gibbon,  "  eithei 
launched  in  red  hot  balls  of  stone  and  iron,  or  dprted  in 
arrows  nnd  jardius,  twisted  round  wilh  flax  and  to«r 
/hich  hud  deeply  inibit  id  the  inflammable  oil." 


M       THE   VEILED    PROPHET    GF    ZIIOE\SSAK. 

Enwreath'd  with  smoky  (tames  through  the  darh 

sky, 

And  red-hot  globes,  that,  opening  as  they  mount, 
Discharge,  as  from  a  kindled  Napthi  fount, 
Showers  of  a  consuming  fire  o'er  all  below; 
Looking,  as  through  th'  illumin'd  ni^ht  they  go, 
Like  those  wild  birds*  that  by  the  Milgicians,  oft, 
At  festivals  of  fire,  were  sent  aloft 
Into  the  air,  with  blazing  faggots  tied 
To   their    huge   wings,   scattering   combustion 

wide  ! 

All  night,  the  groans  of  wretches  who  expire, 
In  agony,  beneath  these  darts  of  fire, 
Ring  through  the  city — while,  descending  o'er 
Its  shrines  and  domes  and  streets  of  pycarnore  :— 
Its  lone  bazaars,  with  their  bright  cloths  of  gold, 
Since  the  last  peaceful  pageant  left  unroll'd  ; — 
Its  beauteous  marble  baths,  whose  idle  jets, 
Now  gush  with  blood ; — and  its  tall  minarets, 
That  late  have  stood  up  in  the  evening  glare 
Of  the  red  sun,  unhallow'd  by  a  prayer  : — 
O'er  each,  in  turn,  the  dreadful  flame-bolts  fall, 
And  death  and  conflagration  throuyhcut  all 


*  "  At  the  great  festival  of  fire,  called  t^e  Sheb  Seze, 
Ihey  used  to  set  fire  to  large  bunches  of  d-y  combustibles 
fastened  round  with  beasts  and  birds,  whii./>  being  then  let 
loose,  the  air  and  oarth  appeared  one  gre»  t  illumination  ; 
and  as  these  terrified  creatures  naturally  f'ed  to  ihe  wood 
for  shelter,  it  is  easy  10  conceive  the  coi^'agrstions  thej 
produced  '-••JRiehardttm'*  Disreriatian 


THE    VEILED   PROPHET   OF    KIIOPvASSAW.       S5 

i'he  desolate  city  hold  high  festival ! 

M  JKANNA  sees  the  world  is  his  no  more  ;  — 
One  sting  at  patting,  ui.d  his  grasp  is  o'er. 
"  What !  drooping  now  ?" — thus,  with  unblub.V 

'  ing  cheek, 

He  hails  the  few,  who  yet  can  Iiear  him  speak, 
Of  all  those  famished  slaves,  around  him  lying, 
And  by  the  Ijght  of  blazing  temples  dying ; — 
"  What !  drooping  now  ? — now,  when  at  length 

we  press 

Home  o'er  the  very  threshhold  of  success; 
When  Allc  from  our  ranks  hath  thinn'd  away 
Those  grosser  branches,  that  kepi  out  his  ray 
Of  favor  from  us,  and  we  stand  at  length 
Heirs  of  his  light  and  children  of  his  strength, 
The  chosen  few  who  shall  survive  the  fall 
Of  kings  and  thrones,  triumphant  over  all ! 
Have  you  then  lost,  weak  murmurers  as  you 

are, . 
All  faith  in  him,  who  was  your  Light,  yom 

Star? 

Have  you  forgot  the  eye  of  glory,  hid 
Beneath  this  Veil,  the  flashing  of  whose  lid 
Could,  like  a  sun-stroke  of  the  desert,  wither 
Millions  of  such  as  yonder  Chief  brings  hither? 
Long  have  its  lightnings  slept— too  long— but 

now 

All  earth  shall  feel  th'  unveiling  of  this  brow  ! 
To-night— yes,  sainted  men  !     Tlu's  very  night 

bid  you  all  to  a  fair  festal  rite, 
Where,  having  deep  refreshed  each  weary  limb 


r 


96       THE   VEILED    PROPIPET   OF   KHORASSAN. 

With  viands  such  as  feast  Heaven's  cherubim. 
And  kindled  up  your  souls,  now  sunk  and  dim, 
With  that  pure  wine  the  dark-ey'd  maids  above 
Keep  seal'd  with  precious  musk,  for  those  they 

love* — 

I  will  myself  uncurtain  in  your  sight 
The  wonders  of  this  brow's  ineffable  light ; 
Then  lead  you  forth,  and  with  a  wink  disperse 
Yon  myriads,  howling  through  the  universe  !" 
Eager  they  listen — while  each  accent  darts 
New  life  into  their  chill'd  and  hope-sick  hearts ; 
Such  treacherous  life  as  the  cool  draught  sup- 
plies 

To  him  upon  the  stake,  who  drinks  and  dies  ! 
Wildly  they  point  their  lances  to  the  light 
Of  the  fast  sinking  sun,  and  shout  "  to-night !' 
"  To-night,"  their  Chief  re-echoes,  in  a  voice 
Of  fiend-like  mockery  that  bids  hell  rejoice  ! 
Deluded  victims — never  hath  this  earth 
Seen  mourning  half  so  mournful  as  their  mirth ! 
Here,  to  the  few,  whose  iron  frames  had  stood 
This  racking  waste  of  famine  and  of  blood, 
Faint,  dying  wretches  clung,  from  whom  the 

shout 

Of  triumph  like  a  maniac's  laugh  broke  out; — 
There,  others,  lighted  by  the  smouldering  fire, 


*"  The  righteous  shall  !>'-•  qiven  to  drink  of  pure«in« 
eeeled  ;  the  seal  whe;i?of  shail  lie  muKk."---  Koran,  chrvp 
(xixiir. 


THE    VEILED    FfcOrilEl    0"    KIlOUASSA.f.        9? 

Dane  d,  like  wan  ghostu  about  a  funeral  pyia, 
Among  the  dead  and  dying,  strew'd  around;— 
While  some  pale  wretch  look'd  on,  and  from  his 

wound 

Plucking  the  fiery  dart  by  which  he  bled, 
In  ghastly  transport  wav'd  it  o'er  his  head  ! 
'Twas  more  than  midnight  now — a  fearful 

pause 

Had  follow'd  the  long  shouts,  the  wild  applause, 
That  lately  from  those  royal  gardens  burst, 
Where  the  Veil'd  demon  held  his  feast  accurst, 
When  ZELICA — alas,  poor  ruin'd  heart, 
In  every  horror  doom'd  to  bear  its  part ! — 
Was  bidden  to  the  banquet  by  a  slave, 
Who,  while  his  quivering  lip  the  summons  gave, 
Grew  black,  as  though  the  shadows  of  the  grave 
Compass'd  him  round,  and,  ere  he  could  repeat 
His  message  through,  fell  lifeless  at  her  feet ! 
Shuddering  she  went — a  soul- felt  pang  of  fear, 
A  presage  that  her  own  dark  doom  was  near, 
Rous'd  every  feeling  and  brought  Reason  back 
Once  more,  to  writhe  her  last  upon  the  rack. 
All  round  seem'd  tranquil — e'en  the  foe  had 

ceas'd, 

As  if  aware  of  that  demoniac  feast, 
His  fiery  bolts  ;  and  though  the  heavens  look'd 

red, 

'Twas  but  some  distant  conflagration's  spread, 
But    hark  ! — she    stops — she    listens — dreadful 

tone  ! 
'T^s  her  tormentor's  la'igh — and  now»  a  groan. 


98       THE   VEILED   PKOPHET  OF   KHORASSAK. 

A  long  death-groan  comes  with  it — can  this  ba 
The  place  of  mirth,  the  bower  of  revelry  ? 
She  enters.    HOLY  ALLA,  what  a  sight 
Was  there  before  her !     By  the  glimmering  light 
Of  the  pale  dawn,  mixed  with  the  flare  of  brands 
That  round  lay  burning,  dropp'd  from  lifeless 

hands,    * 

She  saw  the  board,  in  splendid  mockery  spread, 
Rich  censers  breathing — garlands  overhead, — 
The  urns,  the  cups,  from  which  they  late  had 

quaff  d, 
All  gold  and  gems,  but — what  had  been  the 

draught  ? 

Oh !  who  need  ask,  that  saw  those  livid  guests, 
With  their  swell' n  heads  sunk,  blackening,  on 

their  breasts, 

Or  looking  pale  to  Heaven  with  glassy  glare, 
As  if  they  sought  but  saw  no  mercy  there  ; 
As  if  they  felt,   though   poison  rack'd  them 

through, 

Remorse  the  deadlier  torment  of  the  two  ! 
While  some  the  bravest,  the  hardiest  in  the  train 
Of  their  false  Chief,  who  on  the  battle-plain 
Would  have  met  death  with  transport  by  big 

side, 
Here  mute  and  helpless  gasp'd;— but  as  they 

died, 
Look' d"  horrible  vengeance  with  their  eyes' last 

strain, 

And  clench' d  the  slackening  hand  at  him  in  vain. 
Dreadful  it  was  to  see  the  ghastly  stare. 


THE  VEILED   PROPHET  OF  KIIOKASSAX       99 

The  stony  look  of  horror  and  despair, 
Which  some  of-  these  expiring  victims  cast 
Upon  their  soul's  tormentor  to  the  last ; — 
Upon  theft  mocking  Fiend,  whose  Veil,  uow 

rais'd,  .« 

Show'd  them,  as  in  death's  agony  they  gaz'd, 
Not  the  long  promised  light,  the  brow  whose 

beaming 

Was  to  come  forth,  all  conquering,  all  redeem- 
ing ; 

But  features  horribler  than  Helf  e'er  trac'd 
On  its  own  brood; — no  Demon  of  the  Waste,* 
No  church-yard  Ghole,  caught  lingering  in  the 

light 

Of  the  bless'd  sun,  e'er  blasted  human  sight 
With  lineaments  so  foul,  so  fierce  as  those 
Th'  Impostor  now,  in  grinning  mockery,  shows. 
"  There,  ye  wise  Saints,  behold  your  Light,  youl 

Star,-— 

Ye  would  be  dupes  and  victims,  and  ye  are. 
Is  it  enough  ?  or  must  I,  while  a  thrill 
Lives  in  your  sapient  bosoms,  cheat  you  still  ? 
Swear  that  the  burning  death  ye  feel  within,  • 
Is  but  a  trance  with  which  Heav'n's  joys  begin ; 
That  this  foul  visage,  foul  as  e'er  disgrac'd 

*  "The  .Afghauns  believe  each  of  the  numerous  soli- 
tudes and  deserts  of  their  country  to  be  inhabited  by  • 
lonely  demon,  whom  they  call  the  Qhoolee  Beeabau,  of 
Spirit  Df  the  "Waste.  They  often  illustrate  the  wildnefc 
of  an;  sequestered  tribe  bv  faying,  they  are  wild  us  th« 
Demon  of  <.he  Waste. "—Etpkinstoi^s  Cculul. 


100    THE    VEILED   PROPHET  OF   KHORASSAK. 

E'en   monstrous    man,    is — after    God's    own 

taste ; 

And  that — but  see ! — ere  I  have  half- -way  said 
My  greetings  through,  th'  uncourteous  souls  are 

fledP 

Farewell,  sweet  spirits !  not  in  vain  ye  die, 
If  EBLIS  loves  you  half  so  well  as  I. — 
Ha,  my  youn#  bride  ! — 'tis  well — take  thou  thy 

seat ; 
Nay  come — no  shuddering — didst  thou  never 

meet 
The  dead  before  ? — they  grac'd  our  wedding, 

sweet ; 
And  these,  my  guests  to-night,  have  brimm'd  so 

true 
Their  parting  cups,  that  thou  shalt  pledge  one 

too. 

But — how  is  this  ? — all  empty  ? — all  drank  up  ? 
Hot  lips  have  been  before  thee  in  the  cup, 
Young  bride, — yet  stay — one  precious  drop  re- 
mains, 

Enough  to  warm  a  gentle  Priestess'  veins ; — 
Here,  drink — and  should  thy  lover's  conquering 

arms 

Speed  hither,  ere  thy  lip  lose  all  its  charms, 
Give  him  but  half  this  venom  in  thy  kiss, 
And  I'll  forgive  my  haughty  rival's  bliss  ! 

"  I  or  me — I  too  must  die — but  not  like  these 
Vile,  rankling  things,  to  foster  in  the  b-eeze; 
To  have  this  brow  in  ruffian  triumph  shown, 


THE   VEILED    PROPHET   OF   KIIORASSAN.     101 

With  all  death's  grimness  added  to  its  own, 
And  rot  to  dust  beneath  the  taunting  eyes 
Of"  slaves,  exclahring  '  There  his  godship  lies  !' 
No — cursed    race — since    first    my  soul  drew 

breath, 
They've  been  my  dupes,  and  shall  be,  even  in 

death. 

Thou  see  st  yon  cistern  in  the  shade — 'tis  fill'J 
With  burning  drugs,  for  this  last  hour  distill' d ; 
There  will  I  plunge  me  in  that  liquid  flame — 
Fit  bath  to  lave  a  dying  Prophet's  frame ! 
There  perish,  all — ere  pulse  of  thine  shall  fail — 
Nor  leave  one  limb  to  tell  mankind  the  tale. 
So  shall  my  votaries,  whercsoe'er  they  rave, 
Proclaim  that  Heav'n  took  back  the  Saint  it  gave ; 
That  I've  but  vanish'd  from  this  earth  awhile, 
To  come  again  with  bright  unshrouded  smile  ! 
So  shall  they  build  me  altars  in  their  zeal, 
Where   knaves  shall  minister,  and  fools  shall 

kneel, 

V/here  Faith  may  mutter  o'er  her  mystic  spell, 
Written  in  blood — and  Bigotry  may  swell 
The  sail  he  spreads  for  Heaven  with  blasts  from 

Hell! 

So  shall  my  banner,  through  long  ages  be 
The  rallying  sign  of  fraud  and  anarchy  ; — 
Kings  yet  unborn  shall  rue  MOKANXA'S  name, 
And  though  I  die.  my  spirit,  still  the  same, 
Shall  walk  abroad  in  all  the  stormy  strife, 
And  guilt,  and  blood,  that  were  'ts  bliss  in  life  . 
But  i  ark  !  .their  battering  engine  shakes  the  wall 


102         THE  VEILED  PROPHET  OF  KHC  HASSAN. 

Why  let  it  shake— thus  I  can  brave  them  all : 
No  trace  of  me  shall  greet  them,  when  they  come, 
And  I  can  trust  thy  Faith,  for— thon'ltbe  dumb. 
Now  mark  how  readily  a  wretch  like  me, 
In  one  bold  plunge,  commences  Deity  S" 

He  sprung  and  sunk,  as  the  last  words  were 

said — 

Quick  clos'd  the  burning  waters  o'er  his  head, 
And  ZELICA  was  left — within  the  ring 
Of  those  wide  walls  the  only  living  thing ; 
The  only  wretched  one,  still  curst  with  breath, 
In  all  that  frightful  wilderness  of  death  ! 
More  like  some  bloodless  ghost,  such  as,  they 

tell, 

In  the  lone  Cities  of  the  Silent*  dwell, 
And  there,  unseen  of  all  but  ALLA,  sit 
Each  by  its  own  pale  carcass,  watching  it. 

But  morn  is  up,  and  a  fresh  warfare  stirs 
Throughout  the  camp  of  the  beleaguerers. 
Their  Globes  of  fire,  (the  dread  artillery,  lent 
By  GREECE  to  conquering  MAHADI,)  are  spent; 
And  now  the  scorpion's  shaft,  the  quarry  sent 
From  high  balistas,  and  the  shielded  throng 
Of  soldiers  swinging  the  huge  ram  along, — 
All  speak  the  impatient  Islamite's  intent 
. 

*  "  They  have  all  a  great  reverence  for  burial-grounds, 
which  they  sometimes  call  by  the  poetical  name  of  CitieB 
of  the  Silent,  and  which  they  people  with  the  ghosts  of 
the  departed,  who  sit  each  at  the  head  of  his  own  gravtf 
invisible  to- mortal  ese&."--Elphin!,toiie 


THE    VEILED    PROPHET   OF    KIIOKASSAN       m*S 

To  try,  at  length,  if  tower  and  battlement, 
And  biistion'd  wall,  be  not  less  hard  to  win, 
Less  tough  to  break  down  than  the  hearts  within. 
First  in  impatience  and  in  toil  is  he, 
The  burning  AZIM — oh !  could,  he  but  see 
Th'  Impostor  once  alive  within  his  grasp, 
Not  the  gaunt  lion's  hug,  nor  Boa's  clasp, 
Could  match  the  gripe  of  vengeance,  or  keep 

pace 

With  the  fell  heartiness  of  Hate's  embrace ! 
Loud  rings  the  pond' ro  us  ram  against  th« 

walls ; 

Now  shake  the  ramparts,  now  a  buttress  falls ; 
But  still  no  breach — "once  more,  one  mighty 

swing 

Of  all  your  beams,  together  thundering !" 
There — the  wall  shakes — the  shouting  troops 

exult — 

"  Quick,  quick  discharge  your  weightiest  cata- 
pult 

Right  on  that  spot, — and  NEKSHEB  is  our  own!". 
'Tis  done — the  battlements  come  crashing  down, 
And  the  huge  wall,  by  that  stroke  riv'n  in  two. 
Yawning,  like  some  old  crater,  rent  anew, 
Shows  the  dim,  desolate  city  smokiig  through! 
But  strange!  no  signs  of  life — nought  living 

seen 

Above,  below — what  can  this  stillness  mean  ? 
A  minute's  pause  suspends  all  hearts  and  eyes— 
"  In  through  the  breach,"  impetuous  AZIM  cries; 
But  the  cool  CALIPH,  fearful  of  some  wile 
In  this  blank  stillness  checks  the  troops  awliile, 


104      THE   VEILED   PROPHET   OF  ..:HORASSAN. 

Just  then,  a  figure,  with  slow  step,  advanc'd 
Forth  from  the  ruin'd  walls;    and,   as  there 

glanc'd 

A  sunbeam  o\er  it,  all  eyes  could  see 
The  well-known  Silver  Veil !— "'Tis  Pie,  'tis 

He, 

MOKANNA,  and  alone!"  they  shout  around; 
Young    Av.iyi    from  his  steed  springs   to  the 

ground — 

"  Mine,  Holy  Caliph  !"  mine  he  cries,  "the  task 
To  crush  yon  daring  wretch — 'tis  all  I  ask." 
Eager  he  darts  to  meet  the  demon  foe, 
Who  still  across  wide  heaps  of  ruins  slow 
And  falteringly  comes,  till  they  are  near; 
Then,  with  a  bound  rushes  on  AZIM'S  spear  ; 
And,  casting  off  the  veil  in  falling,  shows — 
Oh!— 'tis  his  ZELICA'S  life-blood  that  flows  ! 
"  I  meant  not,  AZIM,"  soothingly  she  said, 
As  on  his  trembling  arm  she  leant  her  head, 
And,  looking  in  his  face,  saw  anguish  there 
Beyond  all  wounds  the  quivering  flesh  can  bear — 
"  I  meant  not  thou  should' st  have  the  pain  of  this ; 
Though  tleath,  with  thee  thus  tasted,  is  a  bliss 
Thou  would' st  not  rob  me  of,  didst  thou  but 

know 

How  oft  I've  pray'd  to  God  I  might  die  so  ! 
But  the  Fiend's  venom  was  too  scant  and  slow  ? 
To  linger  on  were  maddening — and  I  thought 
If  once  that  Veil — nay,  look  not  on  it — caught 
The  eyes  oi  your  fierc  3  soldiery,  1  shov.ld  be 


THi    VEILED    PKOPHET   OF    KIIOF,  AJSAN.     103 

Sfiuck  by  a  thousand  death-darts  instantly. 
But  this  is  sweeter — oh  !  believe  me,  yes — 
I  would  not  change  thi^sad,  but  dear  caress, 
This  death  within  thy  arms  I  would  not  give 
For  the  most  smiling  life  the  happiest  live! 
All,  that  stood  dark  and  drear  before  the  eye 
Of  my  stray'd  soul,  is  passing  swiftly  by ; 
A  light  comes  o'er  me,  from  those  looks  of  love, 
Like  the  first  dawn  of  mercy  from  above ; 
And  if  thy  lips  but  tell  me  I'm  forgiv'n, 
Angels  will  echo  the  blest  words  in  heaven  ! 
But  live,  my  AZIM  ; — oh  !  to  call  thee  mine 
Thus  once  again  !  mi/  AZIM — dream  divine  ! 
Live,  if  thou  c"er  lov'dst  me,  if  to  meet 
Thy  ZEI.ICA  he.  ?after  would  be  sweet, 
Oh  live  to  pray  lor  her — to  bend  the  knee 
Morning  and  night  before  that  Deity, 
To  whom  pure  lips  and  hearts  without  a  stain, 
As  thine  are,  AZIM,  never  breath' d  in  vain, 
A.nd  pray  that  he  may  pardon  her, — may  take 
Compassion  on  her  soul  for  thy  dear  sake, 
And,  nought  remembering  but  her  love  to  theo, 
Make  her  all  thine,  all  His,  eternally  ! 
G  )  to  those  happy  fields  where  first  we  twin'd 
Our  youthful  hearts  together — every  wind, 
That  meets  thee  there,   fresh  from  the  well- 
known  flowers, 

Will  bring  the  sweetness  of  those  innocent  hourt 
Back  to  thy  soul,  and  thou  may'st  feel  again 
For  thy  poor  ZELICA  as  thou  didst  then. 
So  shall  thy  orizons,  like  dew  that  flies 
To  heav'n  upon  the  mrrning's  -cunsbinc,  rise 


LOG      THE  VEILED  PROPHET  OF  K.  IORASSAR. 

With  all  love's  earliest  ardor  to  the  skies! 
And  should  they — but,  alas !  my  senses  fail — 
Oh  for  one  minute  !  should  thy  prayers  prevail— 
If  pardon' d  souls  may  from  that  World  of  B-liss 
Reveal  their  joys  to  those  they  love  in  this, — 
I'll  come  to  thee — in  some  sweet  dream — and 

tell— 

Oh  heaven — I  die — dear  love!  farewell,  fare- 
well!" 
Time    fleeted — years    on    years  had    paSs'd 

away, 

Ana  few  of  those  who,  on  that  mournful  day, 
Had  stood,  with  pity  in  their  eyes,  to  see 
The  maiden's  death,  and  the  youth's  agony, 
Were  living  still — when,  by  a  rustic  grave 
Beside  the  swift  Amoo's  transparent  wave, 
An  aged  man,  who  had  grown  aged  there 
By  that  lone  grave,  morning  and  night  in  prayer, 
For  the  last  time  knelt  down — and,  though  the 

shade 

Of  death  hung  darkening  o'er  him,  there  play'd 
A  gleam  of  rapture  on  his  eye  and  cheek, 
That  brighten' d  even  Death — like  the  last  streak 
Of  intense  glory  in  th'  horizon's  brim, 
When  night  o'er  all  the  rest  hangs  chill  and  dim 
His  soul  had  seen  a  vision  while  he  slept ; 
She  for  whose  spirit  he  had  pray'd  and  wept 
So  many  years,  had  come  to  him,  all  drest 
In  angel's  smiles,  and  told  him  she  was  blear 


THE   VEILED    PROPHET   CF   KIIOKASSAN.     107 

For  this  the  old  man  breath' d  his  thanks  and 

died,— 

And  there,  upon  the  banks  of  that  loved  tide, 
He  and  his  ZE.MCA  sleep  side  by  side. 

THE  story  of  the  Veiled  Prophet  of  Khoras- 
Ban  being  ended,  they  were  now  doomed  to  hear 
FADLADEEN'S  criticisms  upon  it.  A  series  of 
disappointments  and  accidents  had  occurred  to 
the  learned  Chamberlain  during  the  journey. 
In  the  first  place,  those  couriers  stationed,  as  in 
the  reign  of  Shah  Jehan,  between  Delhi  and  tho 
Western  const  of  India,  to  secure  a  constant  sup- 
ply  of  mangoes  for  the  royal  table,  had,  by  some 
cruel  irregularity,  failed  in  their  duty  ;  and  to  eat 
any  mangoes  but  those  of  Mazagong  was,  of 
course,  impossible.  In  the  next  place,  the  ele- 
phant, laden  with  his  fine  antique  porcelain,  had, 
in  an  unusual  fit  of  liveliness*  shattered  the 
whole  set  to  pieces : — an  irreparable  loss,  as 
many  of  the  vessels  were  so  exquisitely  old  aa 
to  have  been  used  under  the  emperors  Yan  and 
Chun,  who  reigned  may  ages  before  the  dynasty 
of  Tang.  His  Koran  too,  supposed  to  be  the 
identical  copy  between  the  leaves  of  which  Ma- 
homet's favorite  pigeon  used  to  nestle,  had  been 
mislaid  by  his  Koran-bearer  three  whole  days  ; 
not  without  much  spiritual  alarm  to  FADLADEEW, 
who,  though  professing  to  hold,  with  other  loyal 
and  orthodox  mussulmans,  that  salvation  could 
only  be  found  in  the  Koran,  was  strongly  suspected 


/08  LALLA   HOOKH. 

of  believing  in  his  heart,  that  it  could  only  be 
found  in  his  own  particular  copy  of  it.  When 
to  all  these  grievances  is  added  the  obstinacy  of 
the  cooks,  in  putting  the  pepper  of  Canara  into 
his  dishes  instead  of  the  cinnamon  of  Serendib, 
we  may  easily  suppose  that  he  came  to  the  task 
of  criticism  with,  at  least,  a  sufficient  degree  of 
irritability  for  the  purpose. 

"In  order,"  said  he,  importantly  swinging 
about  his  chaplet  of  pearls,  "to  convey  with 
clearness  my  opinion  of  the  story  this  young 
man  has  related,  it  is  necessary  to  take  a  review 
of  all  the  stories  that  have  ever — "  My  good 
FADLADEEN  ;"  exclaimed  the  princess,  interrupt, 
ing  him,  "we  really  do  not  deserve  that  you 
should  give  yourself  so  much  trouble.  Your 
opinion  of  the  poem  we  have  just  heard,  will,  I 
have  no  doubt,  be  abundantly  edifying,  without 
any  further  wnste  of  your  valuable  erudition." 
"  If  that  be  all,"  replied  tee  criticy — evidently 
mortified  at  not  being  allowed  to  show  how  much 
he  knew  about  every  thing  but  the  subject  im- 
mediately before  him — "If  that  be  all  that  is  re- 
quired, the  matter  is  easily  despatched."  Ho 
then  proceeded  to  analyze  the  poem,  in^  that 
strain,  (so  well  known  to  the  unfortunate  bards 
of  Delhi,)  whose  censures  were  an  infliction  from 
which  few  recovered,  and  whose  very  praises 
were  like  the  honey  extracted  from  the  bitter 
flowers  of  the  aloe.  The  chief  personages  of  tho 
story  were,  if  he  rightly  understood  t.hem,  an  ill- 


~- 


AN   OUIEVTAL   ROMANCE.  105 

favoredtgcntleman,  with  a  veil  over  h  B  face  ;  a 
young  lady,  whoso  reason  went  and  cair.e  accord- 
ing as  it  suited  the  poet's  convenience  to  be  sen- 
sible or  otherwise  ; — and  a  youth  in  one  of  those 
hideous  Bucharian  bonnets,  who  took  the  afore- 
said gentleman  in  a  veil  for  a  divinity.  "From 
such  materials,"  said  he,  what  can  be  expected? 
— after  rivalling  each  other  in  long  speeches  and 
absurdities,  through  some  thousands  of  lines  as 
indigestable'  as  the  filberds  of  Berdaa,  our  friend 
in  the  veil  jumps  into  a  tub  of  aquafortis ;  the 
young  lady  dies  in  a  set  speech,  whose  only 
recommendation  is  that  it  is  her  last ;  and«thc 
lover  lives  on  to  a  good  old  age,  for  the  laudable 
purpose  of  seeing  her  ghost,  which  he  at  last 
happily  accomplishes  and  expires.  This,  you 
will  allow,  is  a  fair  summary  of  the  story  ;  and 
if  Nasser,  the  Arabian  merchant,  told  no  better, 
our  Holy  Prophet  (to  whom  be  all  honor  and 
glory !)  had  no  need  to  be  jealous  of  his  abilities 
for  story-telling."* 

With  respect  to  the  style,  it  was  worthy  of 
the  matter ; — it  had  not  even  these  politic  contri- 
vances of  structure,  which  make  up  for  the  com 
monness  of  the  thoughts  by  the  peculiarity  of  the 


*  La  lecture  de  ces  Fables  plaisait  si  fort  aux  Arabes, 
fine,  quand  Mahomet  lea  entreienait  tie  1'Hiatoire  de 
1'Aucien  Testament,  tla  les  meprisaient,  lui  disant  qtie 
celles  qne  Nat^-r  leur  reeontait  etatent  beaueoup  plui 
belles  Cette  preference  allira  a  Nasser  la  malediction  d« 
Mahomet  et  de  lo'ia  oca  disciples.  ---D'Herbtlot. 


nO  1ALLA  ROOEH. 

manner,  nor  that  stately  poetical  phraseology  by 
which  sentiments,  mean  in  themselves,  like  tke 
blacksmith's*  apron  converted  into  a  banner,  are 
so  easily  gilt  and  embroidered  into  consequence 
Then,  as  to  the  versification,  it  was,  to  say  no 
worse  of  it,  execrable :  it  had  neither  the  copious 
flow  of  Ferdosi,  the  sweetness  of  Hafez,  nor  the 
sententious  march  of  Sadi ;  but  appeared  to  him, 
in  the  uneasy  heaviness  of  its  movements,  to  have 
been  modelled  upon  the  gait  of  a  very  tired  dro- 
medary. The  licenses  too  in  which  it  indulged 
were  unpardonable ; — for  instance  this  line,  and 
the^oem  abounded  with  such  ; — 

"  Like  the  faint,  exquisite  music  of  a  dream."  . 
"What  critic  that  can  count,"  said  FAD  LADEEN, 
•'  and  has  his  full  complement  of  fingers  to  count 
withal,  would  tolerate  for  an  instant  such  sylla- 
bic superfluities  ?" — He  here  looked  round  and 
discovered  that  most  of  his  audience  were  asleep ; 
while  the  glimmering  lamps  seemed  inclined  to 
follow  their  example.  It  became  necessary, 
therefore,  however  painful  to  himself,  to  put  an 
end  to  his  valuable  animadversions  for  the  pre- 
sent, and  he  accordingly  concluded,  with  an  air 
of  dignified  candour,  thus  :  "Notwithstanding 
the  observations  which  I  have  thought  it  my  duty 
•o  make,  it  is  by  no  means  my  wish  to  discourage 

*Th«  blacksmith  Ga  >,  who  successfully  resisted  the 
tyrant  £ohak,  and  whoai  apron  becarrtf  the  Royal  atan 
dard  oi'  Pers'.-i 


AN   ORIENTAL   ROMANCE.  Ill 

the  young  man :  BO  far  from  it,  indeed,  that  if  he 
will  but  totally  alter  his  style  of  writing  and 
Jhinking  I  have  very  little  doubt  that  I  shall  be 
vastly  pleased  with  him. 

Some  days  elapsed,  after  this  harangue  of  the 
Great  Chamberlain,  before  LALLAR.OOKH  could 
venture  to  ask  for  another  story.  The  youth 
was  still  a  welcome  guest  in  the  pavilion;  ioone 
heart,  perhaps  too  dangerously  welcome — but  all 
mention  of  poetry  was,  as  if  by  common  con- 
sent avoided.  Though  none  of  the  party  had 
much  respect  for  FADLADEEN,  yet  his  censures, 
thus  magisterially  delivered,  evidently  made  an 
impression  on  them  all.  The  poet  himself,  to 
^vhom  criticism  was  quite  a  new  operation,  (be- 
ing wholly  unknown  in  that  Paradise  of  the 
Indies,  Cashmere,)  felt  the  shock  as  it  is  gener- 
ally felt  at  first,  till  use  has  made  it  more  tolera- 
ble to  the  patient ; — the  ladies  began  to  suspect 
that  they  ought  not  to  be  pleased,  and  seemed  to 
conclude  that  there  must  have  been  much  good 
sense  in  what  FADLADEEN  said,  from  its  having 
set  them  all  so  soundly  to  sleep ; — while  the  self- 
complacent  Chamberlain  was  left  to  triumph  in 
the  idea  of  having  for  the  hundred  and  fiftieth 
time  in  his  life,  extinguished  a  Poet.  LALLA 
ROOKH  alone — and  love  knew  why — persisted 
in  being  delighted  with  all  she  had  heard,  and  in 
resolving  to  near  more  as  speedily  as  possible. 
Her  manner,  however,  of  first  returning  to  the 
euhject  was  unlucky.  It  was  while  they  rested 


112  LALLA   ROOKH. 

during  the  heat  of  noon  near  a  fountain,  on 
which  some  hand  had  rudely  traced  those  well- 
known  words  from  the  Garden  of  Sadi — "  Many, 
like  me,  have  viewed  this  fountain,  but  they  are 
gone,  and  their  eyes  are  closed  forever  !" — that 
she  took'  occasion  from  the  melancholy  beauty 
of  this  passage,  to  dwell  upon  the  charms  of 
poetry  in  general.  "  It  is  true,"  she  said,  "  few 
poets  can  imitate  that  sublime  bird,  which  flies 
always  in  the  air  and  never  touches  the  earth  ;* 
it  is  only  once  in  many  ages  a  Genius  appears, 
whose  words  like  those  on  the  Western  Moun- 
tain, last  forever: — but  still  there  are  some,  as 
delightful  perhaps,  though  not  so  wonderful, 
who,  if  not  stars  over  our  head,  are  at  least  flow- 
ers along  our  path,  and  whose  sweetness  of  the" 
moment  we  ought  gratefully  to  inhale,  without 
calling  *upon  them  for  a  brightness  and  a  dura- 
bility beyond  their  nature.  In  short,"  continued 
she,  blushing,  as  if  conscious  of  being  caught  in 
an  oration,  "it  is  quite  cruel  that  a  poet  can- 
not wander  through  his  regions  of  enchantment 
without  having  a  critic  forever,  like  the  old  Man 
of  the  sea  upon  his  back. "t — FADLADEEN,  it  was 
plain,  took  this  last  luckless  allusion  to  himself, 
and  would  treasure  it  up  in  his  mind  as  a  whet- 
stone for  his  next  criticism.  A  sudden  silence 
ensued;  and  the  Princess,  glancing  a  look  at 

•The  Huma. 

*  The  Siorj  cf  Sinbad. 


AN   ORIENTAL  ROMAN.  I..  113 

FERAMORZ,   saw  plainly  she  must  wait  fora 
more  courageous  moment. 

But  the  glories  of  Nature,  and  her  wild,  fra- 
grant airs,  playing  freshly  over  the  current  of 
youthful  spirits,  will  soon  heal  even  deeper 
wounds  than  the  dull  Fadladecns  of  this  world 
can  inflict.  In  an  evening  or  two  after,  they 
came  to  the  smail  Valley  of  Gardens,  which  had 
been  planted  by  order  of  the  Emperor  for  his  fa- 
vorite sister  Rochinara,  during  their  progress  to 
Cashmere,  some  years  before ;  and  never  was 
there  a  more  sparkling  assemblage  of  sweets, 
since  the  Gulzar-e-Irem,.or  Rose-bower  of  Irem. 
Every  precious  flower  was  there  to  be  found,  that 
poetry,  or  love,  or  religion  has  ever  consecrated, 
from  the  dark  hyacinth,  to  which  Hafez  com- 
pares his  mistress's  hair,  to  the  Camaiata,  by 
.whose  rosy  blossom  the  heaven  of  Indja  is 
scented.  As  they  sat  in  the  cool  fragrance  of 
this  delicious  spot,  and  LAI.LA  ROOKII  remarked 
that  she  could  fancy  it  the  abode  of  that  flower- 
loving  Nymph  whom  they  worship  in  the  tem- 
ples of  Kathay,  or  one  of  those  Peris,  those 
beautiful  creatures  of  the  air,  who  live  upon  per- 
fumes, and  to  whom  a  place  like  this  might  make 
some  amends  for  the  Paradise  they  have  lost— 
the  young  poet,  in  whose  eyes  she  appeared, 
while  she  spoke,  to  be  one  of  the  bright  spiritual 
creatures  she  was  describing,  said  hesitatingly, 
that  he  remembered  a  Story  of  a  Peri,  which,  if 
»he  Princess  had  no  objection,  he  would  venture 


114  PARADISE   AND   THE  PERI. 

to  relate.  "It  is,"  said  he,  with  an  appealing 
look  to  FADLADEEN,  "in  a  lighter  and  humbler 
strain  than  the  other ;"  then  striking  a  few  care- 
less but  melancholy  chords  on  his  kitar,  he  thus 
began : — 

PARADISE    AND     THE    PERI. 


ONE  morn  a  Peri  at  the  gate 
Of  Eden  stood,  disconsolate  ; 
And  as  she  listen' d  te  the  Springs 

Of  life  within,  like  music  flowing, 
And  caught  the  light  upon  her  wings 

Through  the  half-open' d  portal  glowing, 
She  wept  to  think  her  recreant  race 
Should  e'er  have  lost  that  glorious  place  ! 

"  How  happy,"  exclaimed  this  child  of  air, 
"  Are  the  holy  Spirits  who  wander  there, 

'Mid  flowers  that  never  shall  fade  or  fall: 
Though  mine  are  the  gardens  of  earth  and  sea, 
And  the  stars  themselves  have  flowers  for  me, 

One  blossom  of  heaven  out-bboms  them  all1 

"  Though  sunny  the  lake  of  cool  CASHMERE, 
With  its  plane-tree  Isle  reflected  clear,* 

*  "  Numerous  small  islamls  emerge  from  the  Lake  of 
Cashmere.  One  if  called  Cliar  Chenau,  from  the  plan* 
trees  upon  it  "---Forster 


PARADISE   AND   THE   PEIII.  115 

And  sweetly  the  founts  of  that  valley  fall; 
Though  bright  arc  the  waters  of  SING-SU-HAV 
And  the  golden  floods  that  thitherward  stray .* 
Yet — oh,  'tis  only  the  Blest  can  say 
How  the  waters  of  Heaven  outshine  them  all 

'*  Go  wing  thy  flight  from  star  to  star, 
From  world  to  luminous  world,  as  far 

As  the  universe  spreads  its  flaming  wall ; 
Take  all  the  pleasures  of  all  the  spheres, 
And  multiply  each  through  endless  years, 

One  minute  of  Heaven  is  worth  them  all !" 

• 

The  glorious  Angel  who  was  keeping 
The  gates  of  Light,  beheld  her  weeping ; 
And,  as  he  nearer  drew  and  listen'd 
To  her  sad  song,  a  tear-drop  glisten'd 
Within  his  eyelids,  like  the  spray 

From  Eden's  fountain,  when  it  lies 
On  the  blue  flow'r,  which,  Bramins  say, 

Blooms  ho  where  but  in  Paradise! 
11  Nymph  of  a  fair,  but  erring  line  !" 
Gently  he  sr.id — "  One  hope  is  thine. 
'Tis  writfon  in  the  Book  of  Fate, 

'  The  Peri  yet  may  be  forgiven 
Who  brings  to  this  Eternal  Gate 

The  Gift  that  is  most  dear  to  Heaven  /' 

*  "  Tne  Allan  Kol,  or  Golden  River  of  Tibet,  which 
runs  into  the  Lakes  of  Sinsi-su-ha.v,  has  abundance  ol 
gold  in  its  sands,  wljicji  ^mplny.*  llu-  inhabitants  nil  sum- 
oner  in  gathering  it  •'•••Inscription  of  Tiliet  in  Pinktrtrm 


116  PARADISE  AND   THE  PERI. 

Go,  seek  it,  and  redeem  thy  sin ; 
'Tis  sweet  to  let  the  Pardon'd  in  !" 

Rapidly  as  comets  run 

To  th'  embraces  of  the  sun — 

Fleeter  than  the  starry  brands, 

Flung  at  night  from  angel  hands  * 

At  those  dark  and  daring  sprites, 

Who  would  climb  th'  empyreal  heights,-* 

Down  the  blue  vault  the  PERI  flies, 

And,  lighted  earthward  by  a  glance 
That  just  then  broke  from  Morning's  eyes 

Hung  hovering  o'er  our  world's  expanse. 

But  whither  shall  the  Spirit  go 
To  find  this  gift  for  Heav'n  ? — "  I  know 
The  wealth,"  she  cries,  "  of  every  urn, 
In  which  unnumber'd  rubies  burn; 
Beneath  the  pillars  of  CHIT.MINAR  ;t — 
I  know  where  the  Isles  of  Perfume  are 
Many  a  fathom  down  in  the  sea, 
To  the  south  of  sun-bright 


*  "  The  Mahometans  suppose  that  fallinc;  stars  are  th« 
firebrands  wherewith  the  good  angels  drive  away  the  bad, 
when  they  approach  too  near  the  empyreum  or  verge  of 
the  Heavens. "---Fryer. 

f  "  The  Forty  Pillars  :  so  the  Persians  call  the  ruins  of 
Persepolis.  It  is  imagined  by  them  that  this  palace"  end 
the  edifices  at  Balbec  were  built  by  Genii,  for  the  purpose 
of  hiding  in  their  subterraneous  caverns  immense  trea- 
sures, which  still  "email  there.  "-••  D'Jlerlelot, 

•  The  Isles  ol  ""anchaia. 


PARADISE  AND   TilE   PERI.  H7 

1  know  too  where  the  Genii  hid 
The  jewell'd  cup  of  their  King  JAMSHJD,* 
With  Life's  elixir  sparkling  high — 
But  gifts  like  these  are  not  for  the  sky. 
Where  was  there  ever  a  gem  that  shone 
Like  the  steps  of  ALLA'S  wonderful  Throne  ? 
And  the  Drops  of  Life — oh  !  what  would  they  b« 
In  the  boundless  Deep  of  Eternity  ?" 

While  thus  she  mus'd,  her  pinions  fann'd 
The  air  of  that  sweet  Indian  land, 
Whose  air  is  balm  ;  whose  ocean  spreads 
O'er  coral  rocks  and  amber  beds ; 
Whose  mountains  pregnant  by  the  beam 
Of  the  warm  sun,  with  diamonds  teem  ; 
Whose  rivulets  are  like  rich  brides, 
Lovely,  with  gold  beneath  their  tides ; 
*'  Whose  sandal  groves  and  bowers  of  spice 

Might  be  a  Peri's  Paradise  ! 
But  crimson  now  her  rivers  ran 

With  human  blood — the  smell  of  death 
Came  reeking  from  those  spicy  bowers, 
And  man,  the  sacrifice  of  man, 

Mingled  his  taint  with  every  breath 
Upwaited  from  the  innocent  flowers  ! 
Land  of  the  Sun  !  what  foot  invades 
Thy  pagods  and  thy  pillar'd  shades — 
Thy  cavern  shrines,  and  idol  stones, 


t  "  Th"  cup  of  Jaraibid,  dteeoven**!,  ih»>y  BRV,  when 
•figging  it  •  Hie  foundations  of  pym-poiis. ''  •••JHctiarcbo* 


118  PARADISE    AND    THE   PER 

Thy  monarchs  and  their  thousand  thrones?} 
'Tis  He  of  GAZN  4. !  * — fierce  in  wrath 

He  comes,  and  INDIA'S  diadems 
Lie  scatter'd  in  his  ruinous  path. — 

His  blood-hounds  he  adorns  with  gems, 
Torn  from  the  violated  necks 

Of  many  a  young  and  lov'd  Sultana  ;t 
Maidens  within  their  pure  Zenana, 

Priests  in  the  very  lane  he  slaughters, 
And  choaks  up  with  the  glittering  wrecks 

Of  golden  shrines  the  sacred  waters  ! 
Downward  the  PEKI  turns  her  gaze, 
And,  through  the  war-field'd  bloody  haze, 
Beholds  a  youthful  warrior  stand, 

Alone,  beside  his  native  river, — 
The  red  blade  broken  in  his  hand, 

And  the  last  arrow  in  his  quiver. 
"  Live,"  said  the  Conqueror,  "live  to  share 
The  trophies  and  the  crowns  I  bear  !" 
Silent  that  youthful  warrior  stood— 
Silent  he  pointed  to  the  flood 
All  crimson  with  his  country's  blood, 
Then  sent  his  last  remaining  dart, 


*  Mabmood  of  Gazna,  or  Ghizni,  who  conquered  India 
in  the  beginning  of  the  llth  ccn;ury.---See  his  History  in 
"—  and  Sir  S.  Malcolm. 


f  "  It  is  reported  that  the  himtinsr  equipage  of  the  Sul 
Ian  Mahmood  was  so  magnificent,  that  he  kept  400  grey- 
bounds  and  blood-hounds,  each  of  which  wore  a  collat 
•et  with  jewels,   and    a  covering  edged  with   goH  and' 
pearls. "•'•- Universal IJislory,  vol.  iii. 


PARADISE  A.\D   1UE   PERI.  H9 

For  answer  to  th'  Invader's  heart. 
False  flew  the  shaft,  though  pointed  well ; 
The  Tyrant  liv'd,  the  Hero  fell!— 
Vet  mark'd  the  PERI  where  he  lay, 

And  when  the  rush  of  war  wag  past, 
Swiftly  descending  on  a  ray 

Of  morning  light,  she  caught  the  last — 
Last  glorious  drop  his  heart  had  shed, 
Before  its  free-born  spirit  fled ! 
"  Be  this,"  she  cried,  as  she  wing'd  her  flight, 
"My  welcome  gift  at  the  Gates  of  Light. 
Though  foul  are  the  drops  that  oft  distil 

On  the  field  of  warfare,  blood  like  this, 

For  Liberty  shed,  so  holy  is, 
It  would  not  stain  the  purest  rill, 

That  sparkles  among  the  Bowers  of  Bliss ! 
Oh !  if  there  be,  on  this  earthly  sphere, 
A  boon,  an  offering  Heaven  holds  dear, 
'Tis  the  last  libation  Liberty  draws 
From  the  heart  that  bleeds  and  breaks  ir   bei 

cause !" 
'  Sweet,"  said  the  Angel,  as  she  gave 

The  gift  into  his  radiant  hand, 
'*  Sweet  is  our  welcome  of  the  Brave 

Who  die  thus  for  their  native  land.- 
But  see — alas  !  —the  crystal  bar 
Of  Eden  moves  not — holier  far 
Than  e'en  this  drop  the  boon  must  be, 
That  opens  the  gates  of  Hcav'n  for  thoe  \A 
Her  first  fond  hope  of  Eden  blighted, 


I 

120  PARADISE   AND   THE   PERI 

Now  among  AFRIC'S  Lunar  Mountains,* 
Far  to  the  South,  the  PERI  lighted  ; 

And  sleek'  d  her  plumage  at  the  fountains 
Of  that  Egyptian  tide,  —  whose  birth 
Is  hidden  from  the  sons  of  earth, 
Deep  in  those  solitary  woods, 
Where  oft  the  Genii  of  the  Floods 
Dance  round  the  cradle  of  their  Nile, 
And  hail  the  new-born  Giant's  smile  !t 
Thence,  over  EGYPT'S  palmy  groves, 

Her  grots,  and  sepulchres  of  kings,  t 
The  exil'd  Spirit  sighing  roves  ; 
And  now  hangs  listening  to  the  doves 
In  warm  ROSETTA'S  vale$  —  now  loves 

To  watch  the  moonlight  on  the  wings 
Of  the  white  pelicans  that  break 
The  azure  calm  of  MCERIS'  Lake.  I! 
'Twas  a  fair  scene  —  a  land  more  bright 

Never  did  mortal  eye  behold  ! 

Who  could  have  thought  that  saw  this  night 

____  __  _ 

*  "  The  Mountains  of  the  Moon,  or  the  Montes  Luna 
of  antiquity,  at  the  foot  of  which  the  Nile  is  supposed  to 


t  "  The  Nile,  which  th?  Abyssiniana  know  by  the  names 
of  Abey  and  Alawy,  or  the  Giant.  "---Jlsiat.  Jtesearehts, 
rol  i.  p.  387. 

I  See  Perry's  View  of  the  Levant,  for  an  account  cf  the 
sepulchres  in  Upper  Thebes,  and  the  numberless  grota 
covered  all  over  with  hi3roglyphics,  in  the  mountains  of 
Upper  E^ypt. 

$  "  The  orc.hardn  of  Rosetta  are  filled  with  turtle 
doves."-  •  •  Sonnini. 

jj  Sararv  mentions  the  jelicans   upon  Lake  Maria. 


J>AKAD1SE   A  NO    THE   PERI.  '31 

Those  valleys,  and  their  fruits  of  gOid, 
Basking  in  heav'n's  serenest  light;— 
Those  groups  of  lovely  date-trees  bending 

Languidly  their  leaf-crown'd  heads, 
Like  youthful  maids,  when  sleep,  descending, 

Warns  them  to  their  silken  beds  ;* — 
Those  virgin  lilies  all  the  night 

Bathing  their  beauties  in  the  lake, 
That  they  may  rise  more  fresh  and  bright, 

When  their  belov'd  Sun  's  awake  ; — 
Those  ruin'd  shrines  and  towers  that  seem 
The  relics  of  a  splendid  dream ; 

Amid  whose  fairy  loneliness 
Nought  but  the  lapwing's  cry  is  heard, 
Nought  seen  but  (when  the  shadows,  flitting 
Fast  from  the  moon,  unsheath  its  gleam) 
Some  purple-wing'd  Sultanat  sitting 
,     Upon  a  column,  motionless 
And  glittering,  like  an  idol'bird  ! — 
Who  could  have  thought,  that  there,  e'en  lheret 
Amid  those  scenes  so  still  and  fair, 

The  Demon  of  the  plague  hath  cast 

From  his  hot  wing  a  deadlier  blast, 

*  "  The  BTiperb  date-tree,  whose  h?ad  languidly  re- 
clines, like  that  of  a  handsome  woman  overcome  with 
»\eep."---JJaford  el  Hadad. 

t "  That  beautiful  bird  with  plumage  of  the  fme«t 
•hining  blue,  with  purple  beak  and  legs,  trie  natural  and 
living  ornament  of  the  temples  and  palaces  of  the  Greeks 
and  Romans,  which  from  the  slpteliness  of  its  port,  aa 
*cll  as  the  biilliancy  of  ita  :olors  I  as  obtained  the  UUwof 
Sultana."-'  /VmraVa 


PARADISE   AND    THE  PERI. 

More  mortal  far  than  ever  came 
From  the  red  Desert's  sands  of  flame  ! 
So  quick,  that  every  living  thing 
Of  human  shape,  touch'd  by  his  wing, 

Like  plants,  where  the  Simoon  hath  past, 
At  once  falls  black  and  withering  ! 
The  sun  went  down  on  many  a  brow, 

Which,  full  of  bloom  and  freshness  then, 
Is  rankling  in  the  pest-house  now, 

And  ne'er  will  feel  that  sun  again  ! 
And  oh  !  to  see  th'  unburied  heaps 
On  which  the  lonely  moonlight  sleeps — 
The  very  vultures  turn  away, 
And  sicken  at  so  foul  a  prey  ! 
Only  the  fierce  hyaena  stalks  * 
Throughout  the  city's  desolate  walks 
At  midnight,  and  his  carnage  plies — 

Wo  to  the  half-dead  wretch  who  meets 
The  glaring  of  those  large  blue  eyes  t 

Amid  the  darkness  of  the  streets. 
"  Poor  race  of  men  !"  said  the  pitying  Spirit, 

"Dearly  ye  pay  for  your  primal  fall — 
Some  flowrets  of  Eden  ye  still  inherit, 

But  the  trail  of  the  Serpent  is  over  them  all  ? 
She  wept — the  air  grew  pure  and  clear 

Around  her,  as  the  bright  drops  ran ; 

*  Jackson,  speaking  of  the  plague  that  occurred  in 
West  Barbary,  when  he  was  there,  says,  «'  The  birds  of 
ihe  air  fled  away  from  the  abodes  of  men.  The  hyanas, 
on  the  contrary,  vistte-J  'lie  cemeteries,  <&c. 

t  Bruce. 


PARADISE   AND    Till.   I'EHl.  123 

For  there's  a  magic  in  each  teai 

Such  kindly  Spirits  weep  for  man ! 
Just  then  beneath  some  orange  trees, 
Whose  fruit  and  blossoms  in  the  breeze 
Were  wantoning  together,  free, 
Like  age  at  play  with  infancy — 
Beneath  that  fresh  and  springing  bower, 

Close  by  the  Lake,  she  heard  the  moan 
Of  one  who,  at  this  silent  hour, 

Had  thither  stol'n  to  die  alone. 
One  who  in  life,  where'er  he  mov'd, 

Drew  after  him  the  hearts  of  many  ; 
Yet  now,  as  though  he  ne'er  were  lov'd, 

'Dies  here,  unseen,  unwept,  by  any  ! 
None  to  watch  near  him — none  to  slake 

The  fire  that  in  his  bosom  lies, 
With  e'en  a  sprinkle  from  that  lake, 

Which  shines  so  cool  before  his  eyes. 
No  voice,  well-known  through  many  a  day. 

To  speak  the  last,  the  parting  word 
Which,  when  all  other  sounds  decay, 

Is  still  like  distant  music  heard : 
That  tender  farewell  on  the  shore 
Of  this  rude  world,  when  all  is  o'er, 
Which  cheers  the  spirit,  ere  its  bark 
Puts  off  into  the  unknown  Dark. 
Deserted  youth  !  one  thought  alone 

Shed  joy  around  his  soul  in  death — 
That  she,  whom  he  for  years  had  knowM 
A.nd  lov'd,  and  might  have  called  his  own, 

Was  safe  from  this  foul  midnight's  breath ,— 


124  PARADISE   AND    THE  PERI. 

Safe  in  h'.-r  father's  princely  halls, 
Where  the  cool  airs  from  fountain — falls. 
Freshly  perfum'd.by  many  a  brand 
Of  the  sweet  wood  from  India's  land, 
Were  pure  as  she  whose  brow  they  fann'd 
But  see— who  yonder  comes  by  stealth.. 

This  melancholy  bower  to  seek, 
Like  a  young  envoy  sent  by  Health, 

With  rosy  gifts  upon  her  cheek  ? 
'Tis  she — far  off,  through  moonlight  dim, 

He  knew  his  own  betrothed  bride, 
She,  who  would  rather  die  with  him, 

Than  live  to  gain  the  world  beside ! —     • 
Her  arms  are  round  her  lover  now, 

His  livid  cheek  to  hers  she  presses, 
And  dips,  to  bind  his  burning  brow, 

In  the  cool  lake  her  loosen' d  tresses. 
Ah!  once,  how  little  did  he  think 
An  hour  would  come  when  he  should  shrink 
With  horror  from  that  dear  embrace, 

Those  gentle  arms,  that  were  to  him 
Holy  as  is  the  cradling  place 

Of  Eden's  infant  cherubim  ! 
And  now  he  yields — now  turns  away, 
Shuddering  as  if  the  venom  lay 
All  in  those  proffer' d  lips  alone — 
Those  lips  that,  then  so  fearless  grown, 
Never  until  that  instant  came 
Near  his  unmask' d,  or  without  shame, 
'*  Oh !  let  me  only  breathe  the  air, 

The  blessed  air  that's  breath' d  by  thec. 


PARADISE  A.VD    THE   PERI.  121 

4nd,  whether  on  its  wings  it  bear 

Healing,  or  death,  'tis  sweet  to  me  ! 
There,  drink  my  tears,  while  yet  they  fall,— 

Would  that  my  bosom's  blood  were  balm. 
And,  well  thou  know'st,  I'd  shed  it  all, 

To. give  thy  brow  one  minute's  calm. 
Nay,  turn  not  from  me  that  dear  face — 

Am  I  not  thine — thy  own  lov'd  bride— 
The  one,  the  chosen  one,  whose  place 

In  life  or  death  is  by  thy  side  ? 
Think'st  thou  that  she,  whose  only  light, 

In  this  dim  world  from  thee  hath  shone, 
Could  bear  the  long,  the  cheerless  night, 

That  must  be  hers  when  thou  art  gonq  f 
That  I  can  live  and  let  thee  go, 
Who  art  my  life  itself? — No,  no, 
When  the  stem  dies,  the  leaf  that  grew 
Out  of  its  heart  must  perish  too  ! 
Then  turn  to  me,  my  own  love,  turn, 
Before  like  thee  I  fade  and  burn ; 
Cling  to  these  yet  cool  lips,  and  share 
The  last  pure  life  that  lingers  there!" 
She  fails — she  sinks — as  dies  the  lamp 
In  charnel  airs  or  cavern  damp, 
So  quickly  do  his  baleful  sighs 
Quench  all  the  sweet  light  of  her  eyes. 
One  struggle — and  his  pain  is  past— 

Her  lover  is  no  longer  living  ! 
One  kiss  the  maiden  gives,  one  last, 

Long  kiss,  which  she  expires  in  giving ! 
4  Sleep,"  said  the  PERI,  as  softly  she  stole 


(26  PARADISE   AND    IHE  PERI. 

The  farewell  sigh  of  that  vanishing  soul, 
As  true  as  e'er  warm'd  a  woman's  breas.-*' 
"  Sleep  on  ;  in  visions  of  odor  rest, 
In  balmier  airs  than  ever  yet  stirr'd 
Th'  enchanted  pile  of  that  lonely  bird, 
Who  sings  at  the  last  his  own  death  Id/,* 
And  in  music  and  perfume  dies  away  !" 
Thus  saying,  from  her  lips  she  spread 

Unearthly  breathings  through  the  place, 
And  shook  her  sparkling  wreath,  and  shed 

Such  lustre  o'er  each  paly  face, 
That  like  two  lovely  saints  they  seem'd 

Upon  the  eve  of  dooms-day  taken 
From  their  dim  graves,  in  odor  sleeping  ; — 

While  that  benevolent  PERI  beam'd 
:_iike  their  good  angel,  calmly  keeping 

Watch  o'er  them,  till  their  souls  would  waken  s 
But  morn  is  blushing  in  the  sky  ; 

Again  the  PERI  soars  above, 
Bearing  to  heaven  that  precious  sigh 

Of  pure  self-sacrificing  love. 
High  throbb'd  her  heart,  with  hope  elate, 

The  Elysian  palm  she  Soon  shall  win. 
For  the  bright  Spirit  at  the  gat 


*"  In  the  East,  they  suppose  the  Phoenix  to  have  fifty 
orifices  in  his  bill,  which  are  continued  to  his  tail  ;  and 
that,  after  living  one  thousand  years,  he  builds  himself  a 
funeral  pile,  sings  a  melodious  air  of  different  harmoniei 
through  his  fifty  organ  pipe?,  flaps  his  wings  with  a  veio- 
city  which  sets  fire  to  tiewno'l,  and  consume1*  himself."— 
R\fhardson 


AND   THE   PERI.  127 

Sroil'd  as  she  gave  that  offering  in ; 
And  she  already  hears  the  trees 

Of  Eden,  with  their  crystal  bells 
Ringing  in  that  ambrosial  breeze 

That  from  the  throne  of  ALLA  swells ; 
And  she  can  see  the  starry  bowls 

That  lie  around  that  lucid  lake, 
Upon  whose  banks  admitted  souls 

Their  first  sweet  draught  of  glory  take  !* 
But  ah  !  e'en  PERI'S  hopes  are  vain — 
Again  the  Fates  forbade  ;  again 
Th'  immortal  barrier  clos'd— "  not  yet," 
The  Angel  said,  as,  with  regret, 
He  shut  from  her  that  glimpse  of  glory — 
"  True  was  the  maiden,  and  her  story, 
Written  in  light  o'er  ALLA'S  head, 
By  Seraph  eyes  shall  long  be  read. 
But  PERI,  see — the  crystal  bar 
Of  Eden  moves  not — holier  far 
Than  e'en  this  sight  the  boon  must  be 
That  opes  the  gates  of  heaven  for  thee." 

Now,  upon  SYRIA'S  land  of  rosest 


*  '•  On  the   shores   of  a  quadrangular  lake  stand   a 
thousand  goblets,  made  of  star?,  out  of  which  souls  pr«»- 
destined  to  enjoj  felicity,  drink  the  crystal  wave."---Fro»c 
Chateaubriand's  Description  of  (he  Mahometan  Paradise, 
in  his  Beauties  of  Christianity. 

*  Richardson  "thinks  ihat  Syria  had  ifs  name  from  Suri, 
a   beautiful  and  delicate  species  of  rose  for  which  that 
country  has  been   always  famous  ;  hence,  Suristan.  th* 
I  and  of  Rosra. 


128  PAKADISE    AND    THE    PERI, 

Softly  the  light  of  eve  reposes, 
And,  like  a  glory,  the  broad  sun 
Hangs  over  sainted  LEBANON  ; 
Whose  head  in  wintry  grandeur  towerg> 

And  whitens  with  eternal  sleet, 
While  summer,  in  a  vale  of  flowers, 

Is  sleeping  rosy  at  his  feet. 
To  one  who  looked  from  upper  air 
O'er  all  the  enchanted  regions  there, 
How  beauteous  must  have  been  the  glo'V?, 
The  life,  the  sparkling  from  below  ! 
Fair  gardens,  shining  streams  with  ranks 
Of  golden  melons  on  their  banks, 
More  golden  where  the  sun-light  falls  ; — 
Gay  lizards,  glittering  on  the  walls  * 
Of  ruin'd  shrines,  busy  and  bright 
As  they  were  all  alive  with  light ; — 
And  yet  more  splendid,  numerous  flocks 
Of  pigeons,  settling  on  the  rocks, 
With  their  rich  restless  wings,  that  gleam 
Variously  in  the  crimson  beam 
Of  the  warm  west, — as  if  inlaid 
With  brilliants  from  the  mine,  or  made 
Of  tearless  rainbows,  such  as  span 
Th'  unclouded  skies  of  PERISTAN, 
And  then,  the  mingling  sounds  that  come, 


*  "  The  number  of  lizards  I  saw  one  day  in  ihe  great 
Court  of  the  Temple  of  the  Sun  at  Balbec,  amounted  t« 
Hany  thousands ;  Ihe  ground,  the  walls,  and  stones  of  the 

ined  buildings  were  covered  with  thern."---Z?n«# 


i 


PARAD1S       4.ND    THE   PI  Rl.  129 

Of  shepherd's  ancient  reed,*  with  hum 
Of  the  wild  bees  of  PALESTINE, 

Banquetting  through  the  flowery  vales.— 
And  JORDAN,  those  sweet  banks  of  thine, 

And  woods  so  full  of  nightingales  ! 
But  nought  can  charm  the  luckless  PEAI  ; 
Her  soul  is  sad  —  her  wings  are  weary  — 
Joyless  she  sees  the  sun  look  down 
On  that  great  temple,  once  his  own,t 
Whose  lonely  columns  stand  sublime, 

Flinging  their  shadows  from  en  high, 
Like  dials,  which  the  wizard,  Time,       «• 

Had  rais'd  to  count  his  ages  by! 
Yet  haply  there  may  lie  conceal'  d 

Beneath  those  chambers  of  the  Sun, 
Some  amulet  of  gems  anneal'  d 
In  upper  fires,  some  tabret  scal'd 

With  the  great  name  of  SOLOMON, 

Which,  spcll'd  by  her  illumin'd  eyes, 
May  teach  her  where,  beneath  the  moon. 
In  earth  or  ocean  lies  the  boon, 
The  charm  that  can  restore  so  soon, 

An  erring  spirit  to  the  skies  ! 
Cheer'  d  by  this  hope  she  bends  her  thither  •—  « 

Still  laughs  the  radiant  eye  of  Heaven, 

Nor  have  the  golden  bowers  of  Even 
_n  the  rich  West  begun  to  wither  ;  — 


*  "  Svrinx,  or  Pan's  pipe,  is  still  a  pastoral  inatiurnenl 
In  Syria.  "-.  -Russell. 
f  Tl.p  <pmule  of  the  sun  at  Balbec. 


(30  PARADISE  AND  THE  PEKI. 

Whene'er  the  vale  of  BALBEC,  winging 

Slowly  she  sees  a  child  at  play, 
Among  the  rosy  wild  flowers  singing, 

As  rosy  and  as  wild  as  they  ; 
Chasing,  wilh  eager  hands  and  eyes 
The  beautiful  blue  damsel-flies,* 
That  fluttered  round  the  jasmine  stems, 
Like  winged  flowers  or  flying  gems ; — 
And  near  the  boy,  who,  tir'd  with  play, 
Now  nestling  'rriid  the  roses  lay, 
She  saw  a  wearied  man  dismount 

From.his  hot  ste^ed,  and  on  the  brink 
Of  a  small  imaret's  rustic  fount 

Impatient  fling  him  down  to  drink. 
Then  swift  his  haggard  brow  he  turn'd 

To  the  fair  child  who  fearless  sat, 
Though  never  yet  hath  day-beam  burn'd, 

Upon  a  brow  more  fierce  than  that, — 
Sullenly  fierce — a  mixture  dire, 
Like  thunder-clouds,  of  gloom  and  fire  ! 
In  which  the  PERI'S  eye  could  read 
Dark  tales  of  many  a  ruthless  deed  ; 
The  ruin'd  maid — the  shrine  profan'd^— 
Oaths  broken—- and  the  threshhold  stain'd 
With  blood  of  guests  ! — there  written,  all, 
Black  as  the  damning  drops  that  fall 
From  the  denouncing  Angel's  pen, 


*  «  You  behold  there  a  considerable  number  of  a  re. 
mnrkable  species  of  beautiful  insects,  the  elegance  of 
whose  appearance  and  their  attire,  procured  for  them  th» 
name  if  Damsels."--  Sonnini. 

, 


TARADISE  AND    Tilt  PETU.  131 

Ere  merty  weeps  them  out  again ! 
Yet  tranquil  now  that  man  of  crime 
^As  if  the  balmy  evening  time 
Soften' d  his  spirit,)  look'd  and  lay, 
Watching  the  rosy  infant's  play  :— 
Though  still,  whene'er  his  eye  by  chance 
Fell  on  the  boy's,  its  lurid  glahcc 

Met  that  unclouded,  joyous  gaze, 
As  torches  that  have  burned  all  night 
Through  some  impure  and  godless  rite, 

Encounter  morning's  glorious  rays. 
But  hark !  the  vesper-call  to  prayer, 

As  slow  the  orb  of  daylight  sets, 
Is  rising  sweetly  on  the  air, 
From  SYRIA'S  thousand  minarets! 
The  boy  has  started  from  his  bed 
Of  flowers,  where  he  had  laid  his  head, 
And  down  upon  the  fragrant  sod 
Kneels  with  his  forehead  to  the  south, 
Lisping  th'  eternal  name  of  God 

From  purity's  own  cherub  mouth, 
And  looking,  while  his  hands  and  eyes 
Are  lifted  to  the  glowing  skies, 
Like  a  stray  babe  of  Paradise, 
Just  lighted  on  that  flowery  plain, 
And  seeking  for  its  home  again  ! 
Oh  'twas  a  sight— that  Heav'n — that  Child- 
A  scene  which  might  have  well  beguil'd 
E'en  haughty  EBLIS  of  a  sigh 
For  glories  lost  and  peace  gone  by  ! 
And  how  felt  he,  the  wretched  Man, 


13:J  PARADISE  AND    THE  PERI. 

Reclining  there — while  memory  ran 
O'er  many  a  year  of  guilt  and  strife, 
Flew  o'er  the  dark  flood  of  his  life, 
Nor  found  one  sunny  resting-place, 
Nor  brought  him  back  one  branch  of  grac«  < 
'*  There  was  a  time,"  he  said,  in  mild 
Heart-humble  tones — "  thou  blessed  child! 
When  young,  and  haply  pure  as  thou, 
I  look'd  and  pray'd  like  thee — but  now"— 
He  hung  his  head — each  nobler  aim 
And  hope  and  feeling,  which  had  slept 
From  boyhood's  hour,  that  instant  came 
Fresh  o'er  him,  and  he  wept — he  wept ! 
Blest  tears  of  soul-felt  penitence  ! 

In  whose  benign,  redeeming  flow 
Is  felt  the  first,  the  only  sense 

Of  guiltless  joy  that  guilt  can  know. 
u  There's  a  drop,"  said  the  PERI,  "that  down 

from  the  moon 

Falls  through  the  withering  airs  of  June 
Upon  EGYPT'S  land,*  of  so  healing  a  power, 
So  balmy  a  virtue,  that  e'en  in  the  hour 
That  drop  descends,  contagion  dies, 
And  health  reanimates  earth  and  skies  !— < 
Oh,  is  it  not  thus,  thou  man  of  sin, 

The  precious  tears  of  repentance  fall  ? 
Though  foul  thy  fiery  plagues  within, 

One  heavenly  drop  hath  dispell'd  them  ail." 

*  The  Nucta  or  Miraculous  Drop,  which  falls  Ir.  Egypt, 
precisely  on  St.  John's  day  in  June,  and  is  supposed  It 
nave  the  effect  of  stopping  the  ;  laeue. 


PARADISE    A.VD   THE  PEKI  133 

And  now — behold  him  kneeling  there 
By  the  child's  side  in  humble  prayer, 
While  the  same  sunbeams  shine  upon 
The  guilty  and  the  guiltless  one, 
And  hymns  of  joy  proclaim  through  heaven 
The  triumph  of  a  soul  forgiven  ! 

'Twas  when  the  golden  orb  had  set, 
While  on  their  knees  they  lingered  yet, 
There  fell  a  light  more  lovely  far 
Than  ever  came  from  sun  or  star, 
Upon  the  tear,  that,  warm  and  meek, 
Dew'd  that  repentant  sinner's  cheek  : 

To  mortal  eye  this  light  might  seem 
A  northern  flash  or  meteor  beam — 
But  well  the  enraptured  PERI  knew 
'Twas  a  bright  smile  the  Angel  threw 
From  heaven's  gate,  to  hail  that  tear 
Her  harbinger  of  glory  near  ! 

•'  Joy,  joy  forever  !  my  task  is  done — 
The  gates  are  passed  and  heaven  is  won ! 
Oh  !  Am  I  not  happy  ?  I  am,  I  am — 

To  thee,  sweet  Eden  !  how  dark  and  sad 
Are  the  diamond  turrets  of  SIIADUKIAM,* 

And  the  fragrant  bowers  of  AMBERABAD  ! 

*  The  country  of  delight ---the  name  of  a  Province  ia 
the  kingdom  of  Jinnistan,  or  Fairy  Land,  the  capital  of 
rhich  ii  called  the  City  cf  Jewels.  .IrnberabiJ  is  another 
«f  the  cities  oi  Jinimtai 


134  LALLA   ROOK.H. 

Farewell,  ye  odours  of  earth,  that  die, 
Passing  away  like  a  lover's  sigh  ; — 
My  feast  is  now  the  Tooba  tree,* 
Whose  scent  is  the  breath  of  Eternity  ! 

"  Farewell,  ye  vanishing  flowers,  that  shone 

In  my  fairy  wreath,  so  bright  and  brief — 
Oh  !  what  are*  the  brightest  that  ere  have  blown, 
To  the  Lote-tree,  springing  by  ALLA'S  Throne,"* 

Whose  flowers  have  a  soul  in  every  leaf ; 
Joy,  joy  forever  ! — my  task  is  done — 
The  gates  are  pass'd,  and  heaven  is  won  !" 

"  AND  this,"  said  the  Great  Chamberlain,  "ig 
poetry  !  this  flimsy  manufacture  of  the  brain, 
which,  in  comparison  with  the  lofty  and  durable 
monuments  of  genius,  is  as  the  gold  filigree-work 
of  Zamara  beside  the  eternal  architecture  of 
Egypt."  After  this  gorgeous  sentence,  which, 
with  a  few  more  of  the  same  kind,  FADLADEEN 
kept  by  him  for  rare  and  important  occasions,  he 
proceeded  to  the  anatomy  of  the  short  poem  just 


*  The  tree  Tooba,  lhat  stands  in  Paradise,  in  .he  palace 
of  Mahomet."--  -Sale's  Prelim.  Disc.  "Tooba,"  saya, 
D'Herbelot,  "  signifies  beatitude,  or  eternal  happiness." 

f  Mahomet  is  described  in  the  53d  chapter  of  the  Koran 
as  having  seen  the  angel  Gabriel,  "  by  the  lote-tree,  be- 
yond  which  there  is  no  passing  ;  near  it  is  the  Garden  of 
Eternal  Abode."  This  tree,  say  the  commentators, 
stands  in  the  seventh  Heaven  on  th  >  right  hard  of  th« 
throne  of  Go  I. 


AK   ORIENTAL   ROMANCE.  135 

lecited.  The  lax  and  easy  kind  of  n  e.re  in 
which  it  was  written  ought  to  be  denounced,  he 
said,  as  one  of  the  leading  causes  of  the  alarming 
growth  of  poetry  in  our  times.  If  some  check 
were  not  given  to  this  lawless  facility,  we  should 
soon  be  overrun  by  a  race  of  bards  as  numerous 
and  as  shallow  as  the  hundred  and  twenty  thou- 
sand streams  of  Basra.*  They  who  succeeded 
hi  this  style  deserved  chastisement  for  their  very 
success  ; — as  warriors  have  been  punished,  even 
after  gaining  a  victory,  because  they  had  taken 
the  liberty  of  gaining  it  in  an  irregular  or  unes- 
tablishcd  manner.  What,  then,  was  to  be  said 
to  those  who  failed  ?  to  those  who  presumed,  aa 
in  the  present  lamentable  instance,  to  imitate  the 
license  and  ease  of  the  bolder  sons  of  song,  with- 
out any  of  that  grace  or  vigor  which  gave  a  dig- 
nity even  to  negligence — who,  like  them,  flung 
the  jereedt  carelessly,  but  not,  like  them,  to  the 
mark ; — "  and  who,"  said  he,  raising  his  voice  to  • 
excite  a  proper  degree  of  wakefulness  in  his 
hearers,  "  contrive  to  appear  heavy  and  con- 
strained in  the  midst  of  all  the  latitude  they  have 
allowed  themselves,  like  one  of  those  young  pa- 


*  "  It  iaeaid,  that  the  rivers  or  streams  of  Basra  wera 
reckoned  in  the  lime  of  Belal  ben  Abi  Bordeh,  and 
amounted  to  the  number  of  one  hundred  and  twenlj 
Jiousand  streams. "---Ebn  Haukcl. 

t  The  name  of  the  javelin  with  which  the  Easterns  ex- 
ercise.-.-See  Caetellcr.,  Mtxru*  de*  Othoiratis,  torn,  iii 
p  16i 


i36  LALLA   ROOKH. 

gans  vhat  clance  before  the  Princess,  who  has  the 
ingenuity  to  move  as  if  her  limbs  were  fettered, 
in  a  pair  of  the  lightest  and  loosest  drawers  of 
Masulipatam." 

It  was  but  little  suitable,  he  continued,  to  the 
'  grave  march  of  criticism,  to  follow  this  fantasti- 
•  cal  Peii,  of  whom  they  had  just  heard,  through 
all  her  flights  and  adventures  between  earth  and 
heaven  ;  but  he  could  not  help  adverting  to  the 
puerile  conceitedness  of  the  Three  Gifts  whicr 
she  is  supposed  to  carry  to  the  skies — a  drop  of 
blood,  forsooth,  a  sigh,  and  a  tear  !  How  the 
first  of  these  articles  was  delivered  into  the 
Angel's  "  radiant  hand,"  he  professed  himself  at 
a  loss  to  discover  ;  and  as  to  the  safe  carriage  oi 
the  sigh  and  the  tear,  such  Peris  and  such  poets 
were  beings  by  far  too  incomprehensible  for  him 
even  to  guess  how  they  managed  such  matters. 
*'  But  in  short,"  said  he,  "  it  is  a  waste  of  time 
and  patience  to  dwell  longer  upon  a  thing  so  in- 
curably frivolous — puny  even  among  its  own 
puny  race,  and  such  as  only  the  Banyan  Hospi- 
tal for  Sick  Insects*  should  undertake." 

In  vain  did  LALLA  ROOKH  try  to  soften  this  in- 
exorable critic  ;  in  vain  did  she  resort  to  her  most 
eloquent  common-places — reminding  him  jhat 
poets  were  a  timid  and  senisitvc  race,  whose 
sweetness  was  not  to  be  drawn  forth,  like  that  oi 


*  For  a  description  of  tin?  HospiJa!  of  the  Banyans,  we 
Parstrfs  Travels,  p.  202 


AN  jftlE.VrAL  ROMANCE.  137 

the  fragrant  gMss  near  the  Ganges,  by  crushing 
and  trampling  upon  them  ; — that  severity  often 
destroyed  every  chance  of  the  perfection  which 
it  demanded  ;  and  that,  after  all,  perfection  was 
like  the  Mountain  of  the  Talisman — no  one  had 
ever  yet  reaehed  its  summit.*  Neither  these  gen- 
tle axioms,  nor  the  still  gentler  looks  with  which 
they  were  inculcated,  could  lower  for  one  instant 
the  elevation  of  FADLADEEN'S  eyebrows,  or  charm 
him  into  any  thing  like  encouragement,  or  even 
toleration  of  her  poet.  Toleration,  indeed,  was 
not  among  the  weaknesses  of  FADLADEEN  : — he 
carried  the  same  spirit  into  matters  of  poetry 
and  of  religion,  and,  i  lough  little  versed  in  the 
beauties  or  sublimities  of  either,  was  a  perfect 
master  of  the  art  of  persecution  in  both.  His 
zeal,  too,  was  the  same  in  either  pursuit ;  whe- 
ther the  game  before  him  was  pagans  or  poet  • 
asters — worshippers  of  cows,  or  writers  of  epics. 
They  had  now  arrived  at  the  splendid  city  of 
Lahore,  whose  mausoleums  and  shrines,  mag- 
nificent  and  numberless,  where  Death  seemed 
to  share  equal  honours  with  Heaven,  would  have 
powerfully  affected  the.  heart  and  imagination  of 
LALLA  RooKH.if  feelings  more  of  this  earth  had 
not  entirely  taken  possession  of  her  already. 


*  "  Near  this  is  a  curious  hill,  called  Koh  Talisin,  thw 
?,founlr.in  of  tho  Talisman,  because,  according  to  the  tra 
ditions  of  the  ccuntrj,  no  person  ever  succeeded  in  gain 
ing  i'.i  Bumm,l,---A'i7iT«> 


f38  LAL^A  ROOKS.. 

She  was  here  met  by  messengers  despatched 
from  Cashmere,  who  informed  her  that  the  King 
had  arrived  in  the  Valley,  arid  was  himself  su- 
perintending the  sumptuous  preparations  that 
were  making  in  the  Saloons  of  the  Shalimur  for 
her  reception.  The  chill  she  felt  on  receiving 
this  intelligence — which  to  a  bride  whose  heart 
was  free  and  light  would  have  brought  only 
images  of  affection  and  pleasure — convinced  her 
that  her  peace  was  gone  for  ever,  and  that  she 
was  in  love,  irretrievably  in  love,  with  young 
FERAMORZ.  The  veil,  which  this  passion  wears 
at  first,  had  fallen  off,  and  to  know  that  she  loved 
was  now  as  painful,  as  to  love  without  knowing 
it,  had  been  delicious.  FERAMORZ  too — what 
misery  would  be  his,  if  the  sweet  hours  of  inter- 
course so  imprudently  allowed  them  should  have 
stolen  into  his  heart  the  same  fatal  fascination 
as  into  hers  ; — if,  notwithstanding  her  rank,  and 
the  modest  homage  he  always  paid  to  it,  evenhe 
should  have  yielded  to  the  influence  of  those  long 
and  happy  interviews,  where  music,  poetry,  the 
delightful  scenes  of  nature — all  tended  to  bring 
their  hearts  close  together,  and  to  waken  by 
every  means  that  too  ready  passion,  which  often, 
like  the  young  of  the  desert-bird,  is  warmed  into 
life  by  the  eyes  alone  !*  She  saw  but  one  way 

*  "  The  Arabians  believe  that  the  oslriches  hatch  theif 
young  by  only  boking  at  th<jm. ".-•/*.  Vanslebe,  Rdat 
fEgypt* 


AN  ORIENTAL  ROMANCE  139 

eo  preserve  herself  from  being  culpable  as  well 
as  unhappy  ;  and  this,  however  painful,  she  was 
resolved  to  adopt.  FERAMORZ  must  no  more  be 
admitted  to  her  presence.  To  have  strayed  so 
far  into  the  dangerous  labyrinth  was  wrong,  buf 
to  linger  in  it  while  the  clew  was  yet  in  her 
hand,  would  be  criminal.  Though  the  heart  she 
had  to  offer  to  the  King  of  Bucharia  might  be 
cold  and  broken,  it  should  at  least  be  pure  ;  and 
she  must  only  try  to  forget  the  short  vision  of 
happiness  she  had  enjoyed — like  that  Arabian 
shepherd,  who,  in  wandering  into  the  wilderness, 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  Gardens  of  Irim,  and 
then  lost  them  again  for  ever  !* 

The  arrival  of  the  young  Bride  at  Labors 
was  celebrated  in  a  most  enthusiastic  manner. 
The  Rajas  and  Omras  in  her  train,  who  had 
kept  at  a  certain  distance  during  the  journey,  and 
never  encamped  nearer  to  the  Princess  than  was 
strictly  necessary  for  her  safeguard,  here  rode  in 
splendid  cavalcade  through  the  city,  and  dis- 
tributed the  most  costly  presents  to  the  crowd. 
Engines  were  erected  in  all  the  squares,  which 
cast  forth  showers  of  confectionary  among  the 
people  ,  while  the  artisans,  in  chariots  adorned 
with  tinsel  and  flying  streamers,  exhibited  the 
badges  of  their  respective  trades  through  th« 
streets.  Such  brilliant  displays  of  life  and  pa- 
geantry among  the  palaces,  and  domes,  aiW 

t  See  Sofc'i  Koran,  note,  vol.  ii.  p.  484. 


140  LALLA   ROOK1I. 

gilded  minarets  of  Lahore,  made  the  city  alto* 
gether  like  a  place  of  enchantment ; — particularly 
on  the  day  when  LALLA  ROOKH  set  out  again 
upon  her  journey,  when  she  was  accompanied 
to  the  gate  by  all  the  fairest  and  richest  of  the 
nobility,  and  rode  along  between  ranks  of  beau- 
tiful boys  and  girls,  who  waved  plates  of  gold 
and  silver  flowers  over  their  heads*  as  they  went, 
and  then  threw  them  to  be  gathered  by  the 
populace. 

For  many  days  after  their  departure  from  La- 
hore a  considerable  degree  of  gloom  hung  over 
the  whole  party.  LALLA  ROOKH,  who  had  in- 
tended to  make  illness  her  excuse  for  not  admit- 
ting the  young  minstrel,  as  usual,  to  the  pavilion, 
soon  found  that  to  feign  indisposition  was  un- 
necessary ; — FADLADEEN  felt  the  loss  of  the  good 
road  they  had  hitherto  travelled,  and  was  very 
near  cursing  Jehan-Guire  (ot  blessed  memory  !) 
for  not  having  continued  his  delectable  alley  ol 
trees, tat  least  as  far  as  the  mountains  of  Cash- 
mere ; — while  the  ladies,  who  had  nothing  now 
to  do  all  day  but  to  be  fanned  by  peacock's  fea- 
thers and  listen  to  FADLADEEN,  seemed  heartily 
weary  of  *he  life  they  led,  and,  in  spite  of  all 
the  Great  Chamberlain's  criticism ,  were  tasteless 
enough  to  wish  for  the  poet  again.  One  even- 


*  Feriahta. 

t  The  fine  road  made  by  the  Emperor  Jehan-Guirt 

om  Agra  to  Lahore,  flan'.ed  with  trees  on  each  side. 


AN  ORIENTAL  XOMANlE.  Hj 

Ing,  as  they  were  proceeding  to  their  plai-e  of 
rest  for  the  night,  the  Princess,  who,  for  the  freer 
enjoyment  of  the  air,  had  mounted  her  favourite 
Arabian  palfrey,  in  passing  by  a  small  grove, 
heard  the  notes  of  a  lute  from  within  its  leaves, 
and  a  voice,  which  she  but  too  well  knew,  sing 
ing  the  following  words  : — 

TEI.L  me  not  of  joys  above, 
If  that  world  can  give  no  bliss, 

Truer,  happier  than  the  Love   . 
Which  enslaves  our  souls  in  this  I 

Tell  me  not  of  Houris'  eyes ; — 
far  from  me  their  dangerous  glow, 

If  those  looks  that  light  the  skies 
Wound  like  some  that  burn  below. 

Who  that  feels  what  k  ve  is  here — 
All  its  falsehood — all  its  pain — 

Would,  for  e'en  Elysium's  sphere, 
Risk  the  fatal  dream  again  ? 

Who,  that  midst  a  desert's  heat 

Sees  the  waters  fade  away, 
Would  not  rather  die  than  meet 

Streams  again  as  false  as  they  ? 

The  tone  of  melancholy  defiance  in  which 
.hese  words  were  uttered,  went  to  LALLAROOKH'B 
heart  arid,  as  she  reluctantly  rode  on,  she  could 


H2  LALLA  ROOKH: 

not  help  feeling  ii  as  a  sad  but  sweet  certainty, 
that  FERAMORZ  was  to  the  full  r.s  enamored  and 
miserable  as  hersslf. 

The  place  where  they  encamped  that  evening 
was  the  first  delightful  spot  they  had  come  to 
since  they  left  Lahore.  On  one  side  of  them 
was  a  grove  full  of  small  Hindoo  temples,  and 
planted  with  the  most  graceful  trees  of  the  East: 
where  the  tamarind,  the  cassia,  and  the  silkeR 
plantains  of  Ceylon  were  mingled  in  rich  con 
trast  with  the  high  fan-like  foliage  of  the  palmy 
ra — that  favorite  tree  of  the  luxurious  bird  that 
lights  up  the  chambers  of  its  nest  with  fire-flies.* 
In  the  middle  of  the  lawn,  where  the  pavilion 
stood,  there  was  a  tank  surrounded  by  small 
mangoe-trees,  on  the  clear  cold  waters  of  which 
floated  multitudes  of  the  beautiful  red  lotus; 
while  at  a  distance  stood  the  ruins  of  a  strange 
and  awful-looking  tower,  which  seemed  old 
enough  to  have  been  the  temple  of  some  religion 
no  longer  known,  and  which  spoke  the  voice  ol 
desolation  in  the  midst  of  all  that  bloom  and 
loveliness.  This  singular  ruin  excited  the  won 
der  and  conjectures  of  all.  LALLA  RHOOK  guess- 
ed in  vain,  and  the  all-pretending  FADLADEEN, 
wno  had  never  till  this  journey  been  beyond  the 
precincts  of  Delhi,  was  proceeding  most  learn- 
edly  to  show  that  he  knew  nothing  whatever 
about  the  matter,  when  one  of  the  ladies  sug 

*The  Baya,  or  Indian  Gross  beak  •  -Sir  W.  Jones. 


AIT   ORIENTAL   ROMANCE.  143 

gested,  hat  perhaps  FERAMORZ  could  satisfy 
their  cariosity.  They  were  now  approaching 
his  native  mountains,  and  this  tower  might  be 
a  relic  of  some  of  those  dark  superstitions, 
which  had  prevailed  in  that  country  before  the 
light  of  Islam  dawned  upon  it.  The  chamber- 
lain, who  usually  preferred  his  own  ignorance 
to  the  best  knowledge  that  any  one  else  could 
give  him,  was  by  no  means  pleased  with  this 
officious  reference ;  and  the  Princess,  too,  waa 
about  to  interpose  a  faint  word  of  objection ;  but, 
before  either  of  them  could  speak,  a  slave  waa 
despatched  for  FERAMORZ,  who,  in  a  very  few 
minutes,  appeared  before  them — looking  so  pale 
and  unhappy  in  LALLA  ROOKH'S  eyes,  that  she 
already  repented  of  her  cruelty  in  having  so  long 
excluded  him. 

That  venerable  tower,  he  told  them,  was  the 
remains  of  an  ancient  Fire-Temple,  built  by 
those  Ghebers  or  Persians  of  the  old  religion, 
who,  many  hundred  years  since  had  fled  hither 
from  their  Arab  conquerors,  preferring  liberty 
and  their  altars  in  a  foreign  land,  to  the  alterna- 
tive of  apostacy  or  persecution  in  their  own. 
It  was  impossible,  he  added,  not  to  feel  interested 
in  the  many  glorious  but  unsuccessful  struggles, 
which  had  been  made  by  these  original  natives 
of  Persia  to  cast  off  the  yoke  of  their  bigoted 
conquerors.  Like  their  own  Fire  in  the  Burn- 


M4  LALLA    ROOKH. 

ing  Field  at  Bakou,*  when  suppressed  in  ons 
place,  they  had  but  broken  out  with  fresh  flame 
in  another ;  and,  as  a  native  of  Cashmere,  ol 
that  fair  and  Holy  Valley,  which  had  in  the 
same  manner  become  the  prey  of  strangers,  and 
seen  her  ancient  shrines  and  native  princes 
swept  away  before  the  march  of  her  intolerant 
invaders,  he  felt  a  sympathy,  he  owned,  with 
the  sufferings  of  the  persecuted  Ghebers,  which 
every  monument  like  this  before  them  but  tended 
more  powerfully  to  awaken. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  FERAMOTIZ  had  ever 
ventured  upon  so  much  prose  before  FADLADEEN", 
*and  it  may  easily  be  conceived  what  effect  such 
prose  as  this  must  have  produced  upon  that 
most  orthodox  and  most  pagan-hating  person- 
age. He  sat  for  some  minutes  aghast,  ejacula- 
ting only  at  intervals,  "Blotted  conquerors  ! — 
sympathy  with  Fire- worshippers!" — while  FE 
KAMOKZ,  happy  to  take  advantage  of  this  almost 
speechless  horror  of  the  Chamberlain,  proceeded 
to  say  that  he  knew  a  melancholy  story,  connect- 
ed with  the  events  of  one  of  thoso  brave  strug- 
gles of  the  Fire-worshippers  of  Persia  against 
their  Arab  masters,  which,  if  the  evening  was  not 
too  far  advanced,  he  should  have  much  pleasure 
in  being  allowed  to  relate  to  the  Princess.  It 
was  impossible  for  LALLA  ROOKII  to  refuse;— 


t  The  "  Agar  ardens"  described  by  Kimpfer,  Jlmaeni 
tat.  Exot. 


THli   FIRE-WOK«IIF1ER3.  14* 

he  had  never  before  lookeo  naif  so  animated;  and 
when  he  spoke  of  the  Holy  Valley,  his  eyes  had 
sparkled,  she  thought,  like  the  talismanic  cha- 
racters on  the  scimitar  of  Solomon.  Her  con- 
sent was  therefore  readily  granted,  and  while 
FADLADEEN  sat  in  unspeakable  dismay,  oxpect- 
ing  treason  and  abomination  in  every  line,  the 
poet  thus  began  his  story  of— 

THE    FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 


Tis  moonlight  over  OMAN'S  Sea;* 

Her  banks  of  pearls  and  palmy  isles 
Bask  in  the  night-beam  beauteously, 

And  her  blue  waters  sleep  in  smiles. 
'Tis  moonlight  on  HARMOziA'st  walls, 
And  through  her  EMIR'S  porphyry  halls, 
Where,  some  hours  since,  was  heard  the  swell 
Of  trumpet  and  the  clash  of  zel,t 
Bidding  the  brigh; -^yed  sun  farewell  ;— 
The  peaceful  sun,  whom  better  suits 

The  music  of  the  bulbul's  nest, 
Or  the  light  touch  of  lovers'  lutes, 

To  sing  him  to  his  golden  rest ! 

*  The  Persian  Gulf,  sometimes  BO  called,  which  sepa- 
rates the  shores  of  Persia  and  Arabia. 

fThe  present  Gomtiaroon,  a  town  on  the  Persian  n«I« 
of  the  Gulf. 

t  A  Moorish  instrument  of  music. 


i46  THE  FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 

All  hush'd  there's  not  a  breeze  in  motion  ; 
The  shore  is  silent  as  the  ocean. 
If  zephyrs  come,  so  light  they  come, 

Nor  leaf  is  stirr'd  nor  wave  is  driven ; — 
The  wind-tower  on  the  EMIR'S  dome*     . 

Carfhardly  win  a  breath  from  heaven. 
E'en  he,  that  tyrant  Arab,  sleeps 
Calm,  while  a  nation  round  him  weeps ; 
While  curves  load  the  air  he  breathes, 
And  falchions  from  unnumbered  sheathes 
Are  starting  to  avenge  the  shame 
His  race  had  brought  on  iRAN'st  name. 
Hard,  heartless  Chief,  unmov'd  alike 
'Mid  eyes  that  weep  and  swords  that  strike 
One  of  that  saintly,  murderous  brood, 

"To  carnage  and  the  Koran  given, 
Who  think  through  unbelievers'  blood 

Lies  their  directest  path  to  heaven  : 
One,  who  will  pause  and  kneel  unshod 

In  the  warm  blood  his  hand  hath  pour'd, 
To  mutter  o'er  some  text  of  God 

Engraven  on  his  reeking  sword  ;t — 
Nay,  who  can  coolly  note  the  line, 
The  letter  of  those  words  divine, 


*  "  At  Gombaroon  and  other  places  in  Persia,  they  hate 
towors  for  the  purpose  of  catching  Ihe  wind,  and  cooling 
the  houses."  --Le  Sruyn. 

f"  Iran  is  the  true  general  name  of  the  empire  of 
.Vrsia." — Isint.  JRes.  IHic.  5. 

|  "  On  the  blades  of  their  scimitars  some  verses  from 
IB  Koran  is  usually  inscribed,"- --fli.esell 


THE   FIRE-WORSHIPPERS.  147 

I'o  which  his  blade,  with  searching  art. 
Had  sunk  into  his  victim's  heart ! 
Just  ALIA  !  what  must  be  thy  look, 

When  such  a  wretch  before  thee  stands 
Unblushing,  with  thy  Sacred  Book, 

Turning  the  leaves  with  blood-stain'd  hands, 
And  wresting  from  its  page  sublime 
His  creed  of  lust  and  hate  and  crime  ? 
E'en  as  those  bees  of  TREBIZOND, 

Which,  from  the  sunniest  hours  that  glad 
With  their  pure  smile  the  gardens  round, 

Draw  venom  forth  that  drives  men  mad  !* 
Never  did  fierce  ARABIA  send 

A  satrap  forth  more  direly  great ; 
Never  was  IRAN  doom'd  to  bend 

Beneath  a  yoke  of  deadlier  weight. 
Her  throne  had  fall'n — her  pride  was  crush' d— 
Her  sons  were  willing  slaves,  nor  blush'd 
In  their  own  land — no  more  their  own — 
To  crouch  beneath  a  stranger's  throne. 
Her  towers,  where  MITIIRA  once  had  burn'd, 
To  Moslem  shrines — oh  shame  !  were  turn'd, 
Where  slaves,  converted  by  the  sword, 
Their  mean,  apostate,  worship  pour'd, 
And  curs'd  the  faith  their  sires  ador'd. 
Yet  has  she  hearts,  mid  all  this  ill, 
O'er  all  this  wreck  high  buoyant  still 


t  "  There  is  a  kind  of  Rhododeru'.ros  about  Trebizond, 
n'hnse  flowers  (he  bee  feeds  upon,  and  the  honej  lhenc« 
>lri<es  people  n\a&."---Toirncfort. 


148  THE   FlRE-WORSHIVPiRS. 

With  hope  and  vengeance : — hearts  thai  yet 

Like  gems,  in  darkness  issuing  rays 
They've  treasured  from  the  sun  that's  set, 

Beam  all  the  light  of  long-lost  days  ! — 
And  svords  she  hath,  nor  weak  nor  slow 

To  second  all  such  hearts  can  dare  ; 
As  he  shall  know,  well  dearly  know, 

Who  sleeps  in  moonlight  luxury  there, 
Tranquil  as  if  his,  spirit  lay 
Becalm'd  in  heaven's  approving  ray! 
Sleep  on — for  purer  eyes  than  thine 
Those  waves  are  hush'd,  those  planets  shine 
Sleep  on,  and  be  thy  rest  unmov'd 

By  the  white  moonbeam's  dazzling  power  : 
None  but  the  loving  and  the  lov'd 

Should  be  awake  at  this  sweet  hour. 
And  see — where,  high  above  those  rocks 

That  o'er  the  deep  their  shadows  fling, 
Yon  turret  stands  ;  where  ebon  locks, 

As  glossy  as  the  heron's  wing 

Upon  the  turban  of  a  King,* 
Hang  from  the  lattice,  long  and  wild. — 
'Tis  she,  that  EMIR'S  blooming  child, 
All  truth,  and  tenderness,  and  grace, 
Though  born  of  such  ungentle  race ; 
An  image  of  Youth's  radiarrt  Fountain 
Springing  in  a  desolate  mountain  !t 

*  "  Their  kings  wear  plumes  of  black  heron's  feathen 

upon  the  right  side  as  a  badge  of  sovereignty. "--//orm)^, 

f  "  The  Fountain  of  Youth,  by  a  Mahommetnn  tradition 

ia  situated  in  some  dark  region  of  the  East."-  Richardson 


THE.  FIRK- WORSHIPPERS.  '4P 

Oh  what  a  pure  and  sacred  thing 

Is  beauty,  curtain'd  from  the  sight 
Of  the  gross  world,  illumining    * 

One  only  mansion  with  her  light  . 
Unseen  by  man's  disturbing  eye — 

The  flower,  that  blooms  beneath  the  ssa, 
Too  deep  for  sunbeams,  doth  not  lie 

Hid  in  more  chaste  obscurity  ! 
So,  HINDA.  have  thy  face  and  mind, 
Like  holy  mysteries,  lain  enshrin'd. 
And  oh  what  transport  for  a  lover 

To  lift  the  veil  that  shades  them  o'er! — 
Like  those,  who,  all  at  once,  discover 

In  the  lone  deep  some  fairy  shore, 

Where  mortal  never  trod  before, 
And  sleep  and  wake  in  scented  airs 
No  lip  hath  ever  breath' d  but  theirs  ! 
Beautiful  are  the  maids  that  glide 

On  Summer  eve,  through  YEMEN'S*  dales; 
And  bright  the  glancing  looks  they  hide 

Behind  their  litters'  roseate  veils ; 
And  brides,  as  delicate  and  fair 
As  the  white  jasmin' d  flowers  they  wear, 
Hath  YEMEN  in  her  blissful  clime, 

Who,  lull'd  in  cool  kiosk  or  bower, 
Before  their  mirrors  count  the  time, 

And  grow  still  lovelier  every  hour. 
But  never  yet  hath  bride  or  maid 

In  ARABY'S  gay  Harams  smil'd, 

*  Arabia  Felix 


150  THE   FIRE -WORSHIPPERS. 

Whose  boasted  brightness  would  not  feule 

Before  AL  HASSAN'S  blooming  child 
Light  as  the  angel  shapes  that  bless 
An  infant's  dream,  yet  not  the  less 
Rich  in  all  woman's  loveliness  ; — 
With  eyes  so  pure,  that  from  their  ray 
Dark  Vice  would  turn  abash' d  away, 
Blinded,  like  serpents  when  the  gaze 
Upon  the  emerald's  virgin  blaze  !* — 
Yet,  fill'd  with  all  youth's  sweet  desires. 
Mingling  the  meek  and  vestal  fires 
Of  other  worlds  with-  all  the  bliss, 
The  fond,  weak  tenderness  of  this  ! 
A  soul,  too,  more  than  half  divine, 

Where,  through  some  shades  of  earthly  fee* 

.ing» 
Religion's  soften'd  glories  shine, 

Like  light  through  summer  foliage  stealing, 
Shedding  a  glow  of  such  mild  hue, 
So  warm,  and  yet  so  shadowy  too, 
As  makes  the  very  darkness  there 
More  beautiful  than  light  elsewhere  ! 
Such  is  the  maid,  who,  at  this  hour, 

Hath  risen  from  her  restless  sleep, 
And  sits  alone  in  that  high  bower, 

Watching  the  still  and  shining  deep. 


*  "  They  say  that  if  a  snake  or  serpent  fix  hia  eyes  on 
trie  lustre  of  those  stones,  (emralda.)  he  Immediately 
becomes  b!:nd  "•-•sliimed  ben  Jlbdalazir^  Trratiaeon  Jew 
els. 


m 


THE   i'lRE-  WORSHIPPERS. 

Ah!  'tsvas  not  thus—  with  tearful  eyes 
And  beating  heart—  she  used  to  gazo 
On  the  magnificent  earth  and  skies, 
In  her  own  land  in  happier  days. 
Why  looks  she  now  so  anxious  down 
Among  those  rocks,  whose  rugged  frown 

Blackens  tne  mirror  of  the  deep  ? 
Whom  waits  she  all  this  lonely  night  ? 

Too  rough  the  rocks,  too  bold  the  steep, 
For  man  to  scale  that  turret's  height  !  — 
So  deem'd  at  least  her  thoughtful  sire, 

When  high,  to  catch  the  cool  night  air 
Alter  the  day-beam's  withering  fire,* 

He  built  her  bower  of  freshness  there, 
And  had  it  deck'd  with  costliest  skill, 

And  fondly  thought  it  safe  as  fair  :  — 
Think,  reverend  dreamer  !  think  so'  still, 

Nor  wake  to  learn  what  Love  can  dare- 
Love,  all-defying  Love,  who  sees 
No  charm  in  trophies  won  with  ease  ;— 
Whose  rarest,  dearest  fruits  of  bliss 
Are  pluck'd  on  Danger's  precipice  ! 
Bolder  than  they,  who  dare  not  dive, 

For  pearls,  but  when  the  sea's  at  rest, 
Love,  in  the  tempest  most  alive, 

Hath  ever  held  that  pearl  the  best 
He  finds  beneath  the  stormiest  water  ! 


*  "  At  Qombaroon  and  the  Isle  of  Ormus  it  ia  some- 
times so  hot,  that  the  people  are  obligad  to  lie  all  day  a 
we  water.  '•••Juarco  Polo. 


i52  THE  ^I 

Yes  ARABY'S  unrivall'd  daughter, 

Though  high  that  tower,  that  rock- way  rudes 

There's  one  who,  but  to  kiss  thy  cheek, 
Would  climb  th'  untrodden  solitude 

Of  ARARAT'S  tremendous  peak,* 
And  think  its  steeps,  though  dark  and  dread, 
Heav'n's  path- ways,  if  to  thee  they  led  ! 
E'en  now  thou  sees't  the  flashing  spray, 
That  lights  his  oar's  impatient  way  : 
E'en  now  thou  hear'st  the  sudden  shock 
Of  his  swift  bark  against  the  rock, 
And  stretchest  down  thy  arms  of  snow, 
As  if  to  lift  him  from  below  ! 
Like  her  to  whom,  at  dead  of  night, 
The  bridegroom  with  his  locks  of  light, t 
Came,  in  the  flush  of  love  and  pride, 
And  scal'd  the  terrace  of  his  bride  ; — 
When,  as  she  saw  him  rashly  spring, 
And  mid- way  up  in  danger  cling, 
She  flung  him  down  her  long  black  hair, 
Exclaiming,  breathless,  "  There,  love  there  !" 
And  scarce  did  manlier  nerve  uphold 

The  hero  ZAL  in  that  fond  hour, 

*  "  This  mountain  is  generally  supposed  to  be  inacceo. 
eit.le. 

t  In  one  of  the  books  of  the  Shah  Nameh,  when  Zal 
fa  celebrated  hero  of  Persia,  remarkable  for  his  white 
hair)  comes  to  the  terrace  of  his  mistress  Rodahver  at 
night,  she  lets  down  her  long  tresses  to  assist  in  his  as- 
eent ;  hi,  however,  manages  it  in  a  less  romantic  way,  bj 
fixing  his  crook  in  a  projecting  beam.---See  Giampion't 
Fa-don 


4 


THE   FIKE-WORSHITPERS.  153 

Than  wings  the  youth,  who  fleet  and  bold, 

Now  climbs  the  rocks  to  HINDA'S  bower. 
See — light  as  up  their  granite  steeps 

The  rock-goats  of  Arabia  clamber,* 
Fearless  from  crag  to  crag  he  leaps, 

And  now  is  in  the  maiden's  chamber. 
She  loves — but  knows  not  whom  she  loves, 

Nor  what  his  race,  nor  whence  he  came;. 
Like  one  who  meets,  in  Indian  groves, 

Some  beauteous  bird  without  a  name, 
Brought  by  the  last  ambrosial  breeze, 
From  isles  in  the  undiscover'd  seas, 
To  show  his  plumage  for  a  day 
To  wondering  eyes,  and  wing  away  ! 
Will  he  thus  fly — her  nameless  lover  ? 

Alia  forbid  I  'twas  by  a  moon 
As  fair  as  this,  while  singing  over 

Some  ditty  to  her  soft  Kanoon,t 
Alone,  at  this  same  watching  hour, 

She  first  beheld  his  radiant  eyes 
Gleam  through  the  lattice  of  the  bower, 

Where  nightly  now  they  mix  their  sighs ; 
And  thought  some  spirit  of  the  air 
(For  what  could  waft  a  mortal  there  ?) 
Was  pausing  on  his  moonlight  way 


*  "  On  Ihe  laflj  hills  of  Arabia  PelrjE  are  rock-goats." 
— Niet-uhr. 

t"  Canun.espece  de  psalterion,  avec  des  cordes  de 
hovanx  ;  lea  dames  en  louchent  dans  ie  Rarml,  avec  del 
decailles  armees  depoin'es  de  coco."-  -  Tfrfm'"*,  frontta 
ttti  *v  DC  Couwan 


154  THE   FIRE  XUORSHIIPERS. 

To  listen  to  her  lonely  lay  ! 

This  fancy  ne'er  hath  left  her  mind: 

And  though,  when  terror's  swoon  had  paat, 
She  saw  a  youth  of  mortal  kind, 

Before  her  in  obeisance  cast — 
Yet  often  since,  when  he  hath  spoken 
Strange,  awful  words — and  gleams  have  bioker 
From  his  dark  eyes,  too  bright  to  bear, 

Oh  !  she  hath  fear'd  her  soul  was  given 
To  some  unhallow'd  child  of  air, 

Some  erring  spirit  cast  from  heaven, 
Like  those  angelic  youths  of  old, 
Who  burn'd  for  maids  of  mortal  mould, 
Bewilder'd  left  the  glorious  skies, 
And  lost  their  heaven  for  woman's  eyes ! 

Fond  girl !  nor  fiend,  nor  angel  he, 
Who  woos  thy  young  simplicity  ; 
But  one  of  earth's  impassion'd  sons, 

As  warm  in  love,  as  fierce  in  ire, 
As  the  best  heart  whose  current  runs 

Full  of  the  Day-God's  living  fire  ! 
But  quench'd  to-night  that  ardor  seems, 

And  pale  his  cheek,  and  sunk  his  brow  } 
Never  before,  but  in  ber  dreams, 

Had  she  beheld  him  pale  as  now : 
And  those  were  dreams  of  troubled  sleep, 
From  which  'twas  joy  to  wTake  and  weep, 
Visions  that  will  not  be  forgot, 

Bnt  sadden  every  vaking  scene, 


THE   FIRE- WORSHIP  1'ERA. 

Like  warning  ghosts  that  leave  the  spot 
All  wither' d  where  they  once  had  been 

14  How  sweetly,"  said  the  trembling  maid, 

Of  her  own  gentle  voice  afraid, 

So  long  had  they  in  silence  stood, 

Looking  upc  n  that  tranquil  flood — 

"  How  sweetly  does  the  moonbeam  smile 

To-night  upon  yon  leafy  isle  ! 

Oft,  in  my  fancy's  wanderings, 

I've  wish'd  that  little  isle  had  wings, 

And  we,  within  its  fairy  bowers, 

Were  wafted  off  to  seas  unknown, 
Where  not  a  pulse  should  beat  but  ours, 

And  we  might  live,  love,  die  aline — 
Far  from  the  cruel  and  the  cold — 

Where  the  bright  eyes  of  angels  only 
Should  come  around  us  to  behold 

A  paradise  so  pure  and  lonely  ? 
Would  this  be  world  enough  for  thee  ?"— 
Playful  she  turn'd,  that  he  might  see 
.    The  passing  smile  her  cheek  put  on  ; 
But  when  she  mark'd  how  mournfully 

His  eyes  met  hers,  that  smile  was  gone  , 
And  bursting  into  heart-felt  tears, 
"  Yes,  yes,"  she  cried,  "  my  hourly  feare 
My  dreams  have  boded  all  too  right— 
We  part— for  ever  part— to-night ! 
I  knew,  1  knew  it  could  not  last — 
'Twos  bright,  'twas  heavenly,  but  'tis  past1 
Oh  !  ever  thus,  from  childhood's  hour, 


J5G  THE   FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 

I've  seen  my  fondest  hopes  decays 
I  never  loved  a  tree  or  flower, 

But  'twas  the  first  to  fade  away. 
I  never  nurs'd  a  dear  gazelle, 

To  glad  me  with  its  soft  black  eye, 
But  when  it  came  to  know  me  well, 

And  love  me,  it  was  sure  to  die ! 
Now  too — the  joy  most  like  divine, 

Of  all  I  ever  dreamt  or  knew, 
To  see  thee,  hear  thee,  call  thee  mine— 

Oh  misery  !  must  I  loose  that  too  ? 
Y"et  go — on  peril's  brink  we  meet ; — 

Those  frightful  rocks — that  treacherous 
No,  never  come  again — though  sweet, 

Though  hea/en — it  may  be  death  to  thee. 
Farewell — and  blessings  on  thy  way, 

Where'er  thou  goest,  beloved  stranger ! 
Better  to  sit  and  watch  that  ray, 
And  think  thee  safe,  though  far  away, 

Than  have  thee  near  me,  and  in  danger !' 

"  Danger  ! — oh,  tempt  me  not  to  boast," 
The  youth  exclaimed — "  thou  little  know'st 
What  he  can  brave,  who,  born  and  nurst 
In  Danger's  paths,  has  dar'd  her  worst ! 
Upon  whose  ear  the  signal-word 

Of  strife  and  death  is  hourly  breaking; 
Who  sleeps  with  head  upon  the  sword 

His  fever' d  hand  must  grasp  in  waking  J 
Danger!" 


THE  FIKE-WORSHIPFEB8.  15") 

"  Say  on — thou  fears' t  not  then, 
And  we  may  meet — oft  meet 


"  Oh  !  look  not  so — beneath  the  skies 
I  now  fear  nothing  but  those  eyes. 
If  aught  on  earth  could  charm  or  force 
My  spirit  from  its  destined  course — 
If  aught  could  make  this  soul  forget 
The  bond  to  which  its  seal  is  set, 
'Twould  be  those  eyes  ; — they,  only  they, 
Could  melt  that  sacred  seal  away  ! 
But  no — 'tis  fix'd — my  awful  doom 
Is  fix'd — on  this  side  of  the  tomb 
We  meet  no  more — why,  why  did  Heaven 
Mingle  two  souls  that  earth  has  riven, 
Has  rent  asunder  wide  as  ours  ? 
Oh,  Arab  maid !  as  soon  the  Powers 
Of  Light  and  Darkness  may  combine, 
As  I  be  link'd  with  thee  or  thine  ! 
Thy  father" 

"Holy  ALLA  save 

His  grey-head  from  that  lightning  glance  ! 
Thou  know'st  him  not — he  loves  the  brave, 

Nor  lives  there  under  heaven's  expanse 
One  who  would  prize,  would  worship  thee, 
And  thy  bold  spirit,  more  than  he. 
Oft  when,  in  childhood,  I  have  play'd 

With  the  bright  falchion  by  his  side, 
Tve  heard  him  swear  his  lisping  maid 

In  time  should  be  a  warrior's  bride. 


158  THE  FIRE- WORSHIPPERS. 

And  still,  whene'er  at  Haram  hours, 
I  take  him  cool  sherbets  and  flowers, 
Ho  tells  me  when  in  playful  mood, 

A  hero  shall  my  bridegroom  be. 
Since  maids  arc  best  in  battle  woo'd, 

And  won  with  shouts  of  victory  ! 
Nay,  turn  not  from  me — thou  alone 
Art  form'd  to  make  both  hearts  thy  own. 
Go — join  his  sacred  ranks — thou  know'st 

Th'  unholy  strife  these  Persians  wage  : — 
Good  Heaven  that  frown ! — e'en  now  thou  glows', 

With  more  than  mortal  warrior's  rage. 
Haste  to  the  camp  by  morning's  light, 
And,  when  that  sword  is  rais'd  in  fight, 
Oh,  still  remember  Love  and  I 
Beneath  its  shadow  trembling  lie  ! 
One  victory  o'er  those  Slaves  of  Fire, 
Those  impious  Ghebers,  whom  my  sire 

Abhors" 

"  Hold,  hold — thy  words  are  death"— 

The  stranger  cried,  as  wild  he  flung 
His  mantle  back,  and  show'd  beneath 

The  Gheber  belt  that  round  him  clung.* 
"  Here,  maiden,  look — weep — blush  to  see 
All  that  thy  sire  abhors  in  me  ! 

*  "  They  [the  Ghebers]  lay  so  much  stress  on  the  cu- 
ehe  or  girdle  as  not  to  dare  to'be  an  inslant  without  it."--- 
Grose's  Voyage.  "  Le  jeune  bomme  nia  d'abord  la  chose* 
mais,  ayunt  ere  depou'ille  de  sa  robe,  et  la.  large  ceinlure 
qu'il  portait  comme  Ghubr,"  elc.  etc.-- -D'JferMot.  art 
Agduani. 


THE   FIRE-WORSHIPPERS.  i 

Yes — /  am  of  tnat  impious  race, 

Those  Slaves  of  Fire,  who,  mornauil  even, 
Hail  their  Creator's  dwelling-place 

Among  the  living  lights  of  heaven  !* 
Yes — /  am  of  that  outcast  few, 
To  IRAN  and  to  vengeance  true, 
Who  curse  the  hour  your  Arabs  came 
To  desolate  our  shrines  of  flame, 
And  swear,  before  God's  burning  eye. 
To  break  our  country's  chains,  or  die 
Thy  bigot  sire — nay,  tremble  not — 

He  who  gave  birth  to  those  dear  ej  to, 
With  me  is  sacred  as  the  spot 
From  which  our  fires  of  worship  rise  ! 
But  know — 'twas  he  I  sought  that  night 

When,  from  my  watch-boat  on  the  sea, 
I  caught  this  turret's  glimmering  light, 

And  up  the  rude  rocks  desperately 
Rush'd  to  my  prey — thou  know'st  the  rest— 
I  climb'd  the  gory  vulture's  nest, 
And  found  a  trembling  dove  within  ; — 
Thine,  thine  the  victory — thine  the  sin — 
If  Love  hath  made  one  thought  his  own, 
That  vengeance  claims  first — last — alone  ! 
Oh  !  had  we  never,  never  met, 
Or  could  this  heart  e'en  now  forget 
How  link'd,  how  blest  we  might  have  been, 


*  "  They  suppose  the  throne  of  the  Almighty  \s  sealed 
In  the  sun,  and  h?nce  their  worship  of  that  luminary.'- 
•- 


160  THE   FIRE- WORSHIPPERS. 

Had  Fate  not  frown'd  so  dark  between, 
Hadst  thou  been  born  a  Persian  maid, 

In  neighboring  valleys  had  we  dwelt, 
Through  the  same  fields  in  childhood  play'd 

At  the  same  kindling  altar  knelt — 
Then,  then,  while  all  those  nameless  ties, 
In  which  the  charm  of  country  lies, 
Had  round  our  hearts  been  hourly  spun, 
Till  IRAN'S  cause  and  thine  were  one  ; — 
While  in  thy  lute's  awakening  sigh 
I  heard  the  voice  of  days  gone  by, 
And  saw  in  every  smile  of  thine 
Returning  hours  of  glory  shine  ! — 
While  the  wrong' d  Spirit  of  our  Land 
Liv'd,  look'd,  and  spoke  her  wrongs  through 

thee — 
God  !  who  could  then  this  sword  withstand  ? 

Its  very  flash  were  victory  ! 
But  now — estrang'd,  divorced  for  ever, 
Far  as  the  grasp  of  Fate  can  sever  ; 
Our  only  ties  what  Love  has  wove, 

Faith,  friends,  and  country,  sundered  wids;~~ 
And  then,  then  only,  true  to  love, 

When  false  to  all  that's  dear  beside ! 
Thy  father,  IRAN'S  deadliest  foe — 
Thyself,  perhaps,  e'en  now — but  no — 
Hate  never  look'd  so  lovely  yet ! 

No — sacred  to  thy  soul  will  be 
The  land  of  him  who  could  forget 

All  but  that  bleeding  land  for  thee  ! 
When  other  eyes  shall  see,  unmov'd, 


THE  PIKE-WORSHIPPERS.  <61 

Her  widows  mourn,  her  warriors  fall, 
Thou' It  think  how  well  one  Gheber  lov'd, 

And  for  his  sake  thou'  It  weep  for  all  \ 

But  look" 

With  sudden  start  he  turn'd 

And  pointing  to  the  distant  wave, 
Where  lights,  like  charnal  meteors  burn'd 

Bluely,  as  o'er  some  seaman's  grave  ; 
And  fiery  darts,  at  intervals,* 

Flew  up  all  sparkling  from  the  main, 
As  if  each  star  that  nightly  falls, 

Were  shooting  back  to  heaven  again. 

"  My  signal-lights  ! — I  must  away — 
*Both,  both  are  ruin'd,  if  I  stay. 
Farewell-rsweet  life  !  thou  cling' st  in  vain- 
Now — vengeance  !— *Iam  thine  again." 
Fiercely  he  broke  away,  nor  stopp'd,     • 
Nor  look'd — but  from  the  lattice  dropp'd 
Down  mid  the  pointed  crags  beneath, 
As  if  he  fled  from  love  to  death. 
While  pale  and  mute  young  HINDA  stood, 
Nor  mov'd,  till  in  the  silent  flood 
A  momentary  plunge  below 
Startled  her  from  her  trance  of  wo  r 
Shrieking  she  to  the  lattice  flew — 


*  "  The  Mamelukes  that  were  in  the  olher  boat,  wh«« 
it  was  dark,  used  to  shoot  up  a  sort  of  fiery  arrows  intt 
the  air, which  in  some  measure  resembled  lightning  <M 
falling  stars. "•-•Baumgirten. 

11 


62  TitE  FittK-WORS&tlPKRS. 

"I  come — T  come — if  in  that  tide 
Thou  sleep'st  to-night — I'll  sleep  there  too 
In  death's  cold  wedlock  by  thy  side. 
Oh  !  I  would  ask  no  happier  bed 

Than  the  chill  wave  my  love  lies  under  ; 
Sweeter  to  rest  together  dead, 

Far  sweeter,  than  to  live  asunder  !" 
But  no — their  hour  is  not  yet  come — 

Again  she  sees  his  pinnace  fly, 
Wafting  him  fleetly  to  his  home, 

Where'er  that  ill-starr'd  home  may  lie  ; 
And  calm  and  smooth  it  seem'd  to  win 

Its  moonlight  way  before  the  wind, 
As  if  it  bore  all  peace  within, 

Nor  left  one  breaking  heart  behind. 

THE  Princess,  whose  heart  was  sad  eno  tgh 
already,  could  have  wished  that  FERAMOKZ  had 
chosen  a  less  melancholv  story  ;  as  it  is  only  to 
the  happy  that  tears  are  a  luxury.  Her  ladies, 
however,  were  by  no  means  sorry  that  love  was 
once  more,  the  Poet's  theme ;  for  when  he  spoke 
of  love,  they  said,  his  voice  was  as  sweet  as  if  he 
had  chewed  the  leaves  of  that  enchanted  tree, 
which  grows  over  the  tomb  of  the  musician, 
Tan-Sein. 

Their  road  all  the  morning  had  lain  through  a 
very  dreary  country  ; — through  valleys,  covered 
with  a  low  bushy  jungle,  where,  in  more  than 
one  place,  the  awful  signal  of  the  bamboo  staff, 
with  the  white  flag  af,  its  top,  reminded  the  travel 


THE  FlRfi-WORSHiriERS.  163 

fer  that  in  that  very  spot  the  tiger  had  made  some 
human  creature  his  victim.  It  was  therefore 
with  much  pleasure  that  they  arrived  at  sunset  in 
a  safe  and  lovely  glen,  ana  encamped  under  one 
of  those  holy  trees,  whose  smooth  columns  and 
spreading  roofs  seemed  to  destine  them  for  natural 
temples  of  religion.  Beneath  the  shade,  some 
pious  hands  had  erected  pillars  ornamented  with 
the  most  beautiful  porcelain,  which  now  supplied 
the  use  of  mirrors  to  the  young  maidens,  as  they 
adjusted  their  hair  in  descending  from  the  palan- 
keens. Here  while,  as  usual,  the  Princess  sat 
listening  anxiously,  with  FADLADEEN  in  one  of 
his  loftiest  moods  of  criticism  by  her  stde,  the 
young  Poet,  leaning  against  a  branch  of  the  tree, 
thus  continued  his  story : — 

THE  morn  hath  risen  clear  and  calm, 
And  o'er  the  Green  Sea*  palely  shines, 

Revealing  BAHREIN'S  groves  of  palm, 
And  lighting  KisnaiA'st  amber  vines. 

Fresh  smell  the  shores  of  ARABY, 

While  breezes  from  the  Indian  sea 

Blow  round  SELAMA'S!  sainted  cape, 

*The  Persian  Gulf.---"  To  dive  for  pearls  in  thcGrean 
Sea,  or  Persian  Gulf."---<SYr  W.Jones. 

t  Islands  in  the  Gulf. 

j  OrSelomeh,  the  genuine  name  of  (he  headland  at  the 
entrance  of  the  Gulf,  commonly  called  Cape  Musseldorn. 
"  The  Indians,  when  they  pass  the  promontory,  throw 
cocoa-nuts,  fruits  or  ilowsra  into  the  sea  to  secure  pro- 
pitious voyage.  "---Morier. 


,04  THE  FIRE-AVOKSHIPrERS. 

Arid  curl  the  shining  flood  beneath— 
Whose  waves  are  rich  with  many  a  grape, 

And  cocoa-nut  and  flowery  wreath, 
Which  pious  seamen,  as  they  pass'd, 
Had  tow'rd  that  holy  headland  cast- 
Oblations  to  the  Genii  there 
For  gentler  skies  and  breezes  fair  ! 
The  nightingale  now  bends  her  flight 
From  the  high  trees,  where  all  the  night 

She  sung  so  sweet,  with  none  to  listen, 
And  hides  her  from  the  morning  star 

Where  thickets  of  pomegranate  glisten 
In  the  clear  dawn — bespangled  o'er 

With  dew,  whose  night-drops  would  not  e'ai 
The  best  and  brightest  scimetar* 
That  ever  youthful  Sultan  wore 

On  the  first  morning  of  his  reign  ! 

And  see — the  Sun  himself! — on  wings 
Of  glory  up  the  East  he  springs. 
Angel  of  Light !  who,  from  the  time 
Those  heavens  began  their  march  sublime, 
Hath  first  of  all  the  starry  choir 
Trod  in  his  maker's  steps  of  fire  ! 

Where  are  the  days,  thou  wondrous  sphere, 
When  IRAN  like  a  sun-flower,  tuvn'd 


*  In  speaking  of  the  -climate  of  Shiraz,  Francldin  sajs, 
"  the  dew  is  of  such  a  pure  nature,  that  jf  .he  brightest 
•cimetar  should  be  exposed  to  it  nli  night,  il  would  not  re- 
eeive  the  least  rust." 


THE   F1KE- WORSHIPPERS.  iM 

To  meet  that  eye  where'er  it  burn'd  ?— 

When,  from  the  banks  of  BENDEMEER 
To  the  nut-groves  of  SAMARCAND 
Thy  temples  flam'd  o'er  all  the  land  ? 
Where  are  they  ?  ask  the  shades  of  them 

Who,  on  CADESSIA'S*  bloody  plains, 
Saw  fierce  invaders  pluck  the  gem 
From  IRAN'S  broken  diadem, 

And  bind  her  ancient  faith  in  chains  : — 
Ask  the  poor  exile,  cast  alone 
On  foreign  shores,  unlov'd,  unknown, 
Beyong  the  Caspian's  Iron  Gates, t 

Or  on  the  snowy  Mossian  mountains, 
Far  from  his  beauteous  land  of  dates, 

Her  jasmine  bowers  and  sunny  fountains '. 
Yet  happier  so  than  if  he  trod 
His  own  belov'd  but  blighted  sod, 
Beneath  a  despot  stranger's  nod  ! — 
Oh  !  he  would  rather  houseless  roam 

Where  Freedom  and  his  God  may  lead, 
Than  be  the  sleekest  slave  at  home 

That  crouches  to  the  conqueror's  creed! 
Is  IRAN'S  pride  then  gone  forever, 

Quench'd  with  the  flame  in  MITHRA'S  caves— 
No — she  has  sons  that  never — never — 


*  The  place  where  the  Persians  were  finally  defeated 
by  the  Arab?,  and  their  ancient  monarchy  destroyed. 

t  Derbend.— "  Les  Tures  appel'.ent  celte  vilfe  Demk 
Capi,  Porto  de  Per  ;  ct  sont  les  Caspim  Portaa  del  an- 


166  THE   FIK£-WCHSHirr£RS. 

Will  stoop  to  be  the  Moslem's  slaves, 
While  heaven  has  light  or  earth  has  graves, 
Spirits  of  fire  that  brood  not  long, 
But  flash  resentment  back  for  wrong  ; 
And  hearts,  where,  slow  but  deep,  the  seeds 
Of  vengeance  ripen  into  deeds  ; 
Till,  in  some  treacherous  hour  of  calm, 
They  burst,  like  ZELIAN'S  giant  palm,* 
Whose  buds  fly  open  with  a  sound 
That  shakes  the  pigmy  forest  round  ! 

Yes,  EATTR  !  he,  who  scal'd  that  tower, 
And,  had  lie  reached  thy  slumbering  breast, 

Had  taught  thee,  in  a  Ghcber's  power 
How  safe  e'en  tyrant's  heads  may  rest — 

Is  one  of  many,  brave  as  he, 

Who  loathe  thy  haughty  race  and  thee  ; 

Who,  though  they  Know  the  strife  is  vain — 

Who,  though  they  know  the  riven  chain 

Snst)s  but  to  enter  in  the  heart 

Of  him  who  rends  its  links  apart, 

Yet  dare  the  issue — blest  to  be 

E'en  for  one  bleeding  moment  free, 

And  die  in  pangs  of  liberty ! 

*  The  Talpot  or  Talipot  tree — "  This  beautiful  palm 
tree,  which  grows  in  the  heart  of  the  forests,  rnay  1  e  class- 
ed  among  the  loftiest  trees,  and  becomes  still  higherwhen 
on  the  point  of  bursting  forth  from  its  leafy  summit.  The 
iheath  which  then  envelopes  the  flower  is  very  large,  and, 
when  it  bursts,  makes  an  explosion  like  the  report  of  a 
eannon 


Thou  know'st  them  well — 'tis  some  moons  since 
Thy  turban' d  troops  and  blood-red  flags, 

Thou  satrap  of  a  bigot  Prince  ! 
Have  swarm' d  among  those  Green  Sea  crags; 

Yet  here,  c'cn  here,  a  sacred  band. 

Ay,  in  the  portal  of  that  land 

Thou,  Arab,  dar'st  to  call  thy  own, 

Their  spears  across  thy  path  have  thrown; 

Here — ere  the  winds  half  wing'd  thee  o'er— 

Rebellion  brav'd  thee  from  the  shore. 

Rebellion  !  foul,  dishonoring  word, 

Whose  wrongful  blight  so  oft  has  stain'd 
The  holiest  cause  that  tongue  or  sword 

Of  mortal  ever  lost  or  gain'd. 
How  many  a  spirit,  born  to  bless, 

Hath  sunk  beneath  that  withering  name, 
Whom  but  a  day's,  an  hour's  success 

Had  wafted  to  eternal  fame  ! 
As  exhalations  when  they  burst 
From  the  warm  earth,  if  chill' d  at  first, 
If  check' d  in  soaring  from  the  plain,      . 
Darken  to  fogs  and  sink  again  ;-  - 
But  if  they  once  triumphant  spread 
Their  wings  above  the  mountain-head, 
Become  enthron'd  in  upper  air, 
And  turn  to  sun-bright  glories  there ! 

And  who  is  he,  '.hat  wields  the  might 

Of  Freedom  on  the  Green  Sea  brink, 
Before  whose  sabre's  dazz'ing  light 


168  THE   FIRE-VrOKSIIIPPERS. 

The  eyes  of  YEMEN'S  warriors  wink  t 
Who  comes  embower' d  in  the  spears 
Of  KERMAN'S  hardy  mountaineers? 
Those  mountaineers,  that,  truest,  last, 

Cling  to  their  country's  ancient  rites, 
As  if  that  G  od  whose  eyelids  cast 

Their  closing  gleam  on  IRAN'S  heights, 
Among  her  snowy  mountains  threw 
The  last  light  of  his  worship  too ! 

'Tis  HAFED — name  of  fear,  whose  sound 
Chills  like  the  muttering  of  a  charm ;—      * 

Shout  but  that  awful  name  around, 
And  palsy  shakes  the  manliest  arm. 

'Tis  HAFED,  most  accurst  and  dire 

(So  rank'd  by  Moslem  hate  and  ire) 

Of  all  the  rebel  Son's  of  Fire  ! 

Of  whose  malign,  tremendous  power 

The  Arabs,  at  their  mid-watch  hour 

Such  tales  of  fearful  wonder  tell, 

That  each  affrighted  sentinel 

Pulls  down  his  cowl  upon  his  eyes, 

Lest  HAFED  in  the  midst  should  rise  ! 

A  man,  they  say,  of  monstrous  birth, 

A  mingled  race  of  flame  and  earth, 

Sprung  from  those  old,  enchanted  kings,* 

*  Tahmuras,  and  other  ancient  Kins^  of  Persia,  whow 
adventures  in  Fairy  Land  amon?  the  Peris  and  the  Dive* 
may  be  found  in  Richardson's  Curious  Dissertation.  The 
eriffin  Simoorgh,  they  say,  took  some  feathers  from  hel 
Srenst  for  Tahmuras',  with  which  he  adorned  his  helmet 
and  transmitted  then?  afterwards  to  hia  descendaiiin. 


THE   FIRE-AVORSnirPERS.  169 

Who  in  their  fairy  helms  of  yore, 
A.  feather  from  the  mystic  wings 

Of  tho  Simoorgh  resistless  wore  ; 
And  gifted  by  the  fiends  of  Fire, 
VV-lro  groan  to  see  their  shrines  expire, 
With  charms  that,  all  in  vain  withstood, 
Would  drown  the  Koran's  light  in  blood! 

Such  were  th,)  tales  that  won  belief, 

And  such  the'-eoloring  Fancy  gave 

To  a  young,  warm,  and  dauntless  Chief — 

One  who,  no  more  than  mortal  brave, 
Fought  for  the  land  his  soul  ador'd, 

For  happy  homes,  and  altars  free — 
His  only  talisman,  the  sword, 

His  only  spell-word,  Liberty  ! 
One  of  that  ancient  hero  line, 
Along  whose  glorious  current  shine 
Names  that  have  sanctified  their  blood ; 
As  LEBANON'S  small  mountain  flood 
Is  rendered  holy  by  the  ranks 
Of  sainted  cedars  on  its  banks  !* 
'Twas  not  for  him  to  crouch  the  knee 
Tamely  to  Moslem  tyranny  ; — 
'Twas  not  for  him,  whose  soul  was  cast 
In  the  bright  mould  of  ages  past, 
Whose  melancholy  spirit,  fed 
With  all  the  glories  of  the  dead, 

*  This  rivulet,  says  Dandini,  is  called  the  Holj  Ui?« 
fryrr  Ure  "  cedar-saints,"  among  which  '  rises. 


.70  THE  .'IKE- WORSHIPPERS. 

Though  fram'd  for  IRAN'S  happiest  years, 
Was  born  among  her  chains  and  tears ! 
'Tvvas  not  for  him  to  swell  the  crowd 
Of  slavish  heads,  that,  shrinking,  bow'd 
Before  the  Moslem,  as  he  pass'd, 
Like  shrubs  beneath  the  poison  blast — 
No — far  he  fled,  indignant  fled 

The  pageant  of  his  country's  shame  , 
While  every  tear  her  children  shed 

Fell  on  his  soul  like  drops  of  flj|me ; 
And  as  a  lover  hails  the  dawn 

Of  a  first  smile,  so  welcom'd  he 
The  sparkle  of  the  first  sword  drawn 
For  vengeance  and  for  liberty  ! 
But  vain  was  valor — vain  the  flower 
Of  KERMAN,  in  that  dreadful  hour, 
Against  Ar,  HASSAN'S  whelming  power. 
In  vain  they  met  him,  helm  to  helm, 
Upon  the  threshhold  of  that  realm 
He  come  in  bigot  pomp  to  sway, 
And  with  their  corpses  block'd  his  way— _ 
In  vain — for  every  lance  they  rais'd, 
Thousands  around  the  conqueror  blaz'd ; 
For  every  arm  that  lin'd  their  shore, 
Myriads  of  slaves  were  wafted  o'er — 
A  bloody,  bold,  and  countless  crowd, 
Before  whose  swarms  as  fast  they  bow'd 
As  dates  beneath  the  locust  cloud  ! 
There  stood — but  one  short  league  away 
From  old  HARMOZIA'S  sultry  bay — 
A  rockv  mountain,  o'er  the  Sea 


XHE    FIKE-WOflJHIITEKS.  171 

Of  Oman  kcetling  awfully  : 
A  last  ar.il  solitary  link 

Of  those  stupendous  chains  ihcit  reach 
Irora  the  broad  Caspian's  reedy  brink 

Down  winding  to  the  Green  Sea  beach. 
Around  its  base  the  bare  rocks  stood, 
Like  naked  giants,  in  the  flood, 

As  if  to  guard  the  Gulf  across  ; 
While,  on  its  peak,  that  brav'd  the  sky, 
A  ruin'd  temple  towcr'd,  so  high 

That  oft  the  sleeping  albatross* 
Struck  the  wild  ruins  with  her  wing, 
And  from  her  cloud-rock' d  slumbering 
Started — to  find  man's  dwelling  there 
In  her  own  silent  fields  of  air  ! 
Beneath,  terrific  caverns  gave 
Dark  welcome  to  each  stormy  wave 
That  dash'd,  like  midnight  revellers,  in  ; — 
And  such  the  strange,  mysterious  din 
At  times  throughout  those  caverns  roll'd;- 
And  such  the  fearful  wonders  told 
Of  restless  spirits  imprison'd  there, 
That  bold  were  Moslem,  who  would  dare 
At  twilight  hour,  to  steer  his  skifF 
Beneath  the  Gheber's  lonely  cliff. 
On  the  land  side,  those  towers  sublime, 
That  seem'd  above  the  grasp  of  Time, 
Were  sever' d  from  the  haunts  of  men 


«  These  birde  sleep  in  the  air.     They  are  most  conrmot 
about  the  Cape  of  Good  Ho»a 


i72  THE   FIRE- WORSHIPPERS. 

By  a  wide,  deep,  and  wizard  glen, 
So  fathomless,  so  full  of  gloom, 

No  eye  could  pierce  the  void  between ; 
It  seem'd  a  place  wheie  Gholes  might  come 
With  their  foul  banquets  from  the  tomb, 

And  in  its  caverns  feed  unseen. 
Like  distant  thunder,  from  below, 

The  sound  of  many  torrents  came  ; 
Too  deep  for  eye  or  ear  to  know 
If  'twere  the  sea's  imprison'd  flow, 

Or  floods  of  ever-restless  flame. 
For  each  ravine,  each  rocky  spire 
Of  that  vast  mountain  stood  on  fire  ;* 
And  though,  forever  past  the  days 
When  God  was  worshipp'd  in  the  blaze 
That  from  its  lofty  altar  shone — 
Though  fled  the  Priests,  the  votaries  gone, 
Still  did  the  mighty  flame  burn  on 
Through  chance  and  change,  through  good  and  illt 
Like  its  own  God's  eternal  will, 
Deep,  constant,  bright,  unquenchable  ! 
Thither  the  vanquish'd  HAFED  led 

His  little  army's  last  remains  ; 
"Welcome,  terrific  glen  !"  he  said, 
"  Thy  gloom,  that  Eblis'  self  might  dread, 

Is  h  aven  to  him  who  flies  from  chains  !" 
O'er  a  dark,  narrow  bridge-way,  known 
To  him  and  to  his  Chiefs  alone, 


*  The  Ghebers  generally  built  their  temples  over 
terraneous  fires. 


THE  F1RE-.VORSHIPPEKS.  173 

They  cross'd  the  chasm  and  gain'd  the  t  jwerd  ;- 
"  This  home,"  he  cried,  "  at  least  is  ours— 
Here  we  may  bleed,  unmock'd  hy  hy:;nns 

Of  Moslem  triumph  o'er  our  head  ; 
Here  we  may  fall,  nor  leave  our  limbs 

To  quiver  to  the  Moslem's  tread ; 
Stretch'd  on  this  rock,  while  vulture's  beaks 
Are  whetted  on  our  yet  warm  cheeks, 
Here — happy  that  no  tyrant's  eye 
Gloats  on  our  torments — we  may  die  !" 

'Twas  night  when  to  those  towers  they  camo  j 
And  gloomily  the  fitful  flame, 
That  from  the  ruin'd  altar  broke, 
Glar'd  on  his  features,  as  he  spoke  : — 
"  'Tis  o'er — what  men  could  do,  we've  done: 
If  IRAN  will  look  tamely  on, 
And  see  her  priests,  her  warriors  driven 

Before  a  sensual  bigot's  nod, 
A  wretch  who  takes  his  lusts  to  heaven, 

And  makes  a  pander  of  his  God  ! 
If  her  proud  sons,  her  high-born  souls, 

Men  in  whose  veins — oh  last  disgrace  ! 
The  blood  of  ZAL  and  RUSTAM,*  rolls — 

If  they  will  court  this  upstart  race, 
And  turn  from  MITHRA'S  ancient  ray, 
To  kneel  at  shrines  of  yesterday  ! 
If  they  will  crouch  to  IRAN'S  foes, 


*  Ancient  heroes  of  Persia.     "  Among  Iho  Gheben 
'.here  are  some  who  bo«:3l  their  descent  from  Ki  utam."-- 
Perria. 


174  THE    FlKE'-WOKSHIPrERS. 

" 


Why,  let  them— till  the  land's  despoil 


Cries  out  to  heav'n,  and  bondage  grows 

Too  vile  for  e'en  the  vile  to  bear  ! 
Till  shame  at  last,  long  hidden,  burns 
Their  inmost  core,  and  conscience  turns 
Each  coward  tear  the  slave  let's  fall 
Back  on  his  heart  in  drops  of  gall ! 
But  here,  at  least  are  arms  unchain' d, 
And  souls  that  thraldom  never  stain'd;  — 

This  spot,  at  least,  no  foot  of  slave 
Or  satrap  ever  yet  pro  fan' d ; 

And,  though  but  few,  though  fast  the  wave 
Of  life  is  ebbing  from  our  veins, 
Enough  for  vengeance  still  remains. 
As  panthers,  after  set  of  sun, 
Rush  from  the  roots  'of  LEBANON 
Across  the  dark  sea-robber's  way,* 
We'll  bound  upon  our  startled  prey  ; — 
And  when  some  hearts  that  proudest  swell 
Have  felt  our  falchion's  last  farewell ; 
When  Hope's  expiring  throb  is  o'er. 
And  e'en  Despair  can  pompt  no  more, 
This  spot  shall  be  the  sacred  grave 
Of  the  last  few  who,  vainly  brave, 
Die  for  the  land  they  cannot  save  !" 
His  Chiefs  stood  round— each  shining  blads 
Upon  the  broken  altar  laid  — 

*  See  Russell's  account  of  the  panthers  attacking  tra- 
vellers in  the  i  ;ght  oa  the  sea-shore  about  the  roots  of 


175 

And  though  so  wild  and  dcsolato 

Those  courts  where  once  the  mighty  sate ; 

Nor  longer  on  those  mouldering  towers 

Was  seen  the  feast  of  fruits  and  flowers, 

With  which  of  old  the  Mad  fed 

The  wandering  spirits  of  their  dead  ;* 

Though  neither  priests  nor  rites  were  there, 

Nor  charmed  leaf  of. pure  pomegranate, t 
Nor  hymn,  nor  censers  fragrant  air, 

Nor  symbol  of  their  worshipp'd  plnnet  ;t 
Yet  the  same  God  that  heard  their  sires 
Heard  them  ;  while  on  that  altar's  fires 
They  swore  the  latest,  holiest  deed 
Of  the  few  hearts  still  left  to  bleed, 
Should  be,  in  IRAN'S  injured  name, 
To  die  upon  that  Mount  of  Flame — 
The  last  of  all  her  patriot  line, 

*  Among  other  ceremonies,  the  Magi  used  1o  place 
upon  the  tops  of  high  towers  various  kinds  of  rich  viands, 
upon  which  it  was  supposed  the  Peris  and  th«  spirits  of 
their  departed  heroes  regaled  themselves. ".--Ridiardaon. 

t  In  the  ceremonies  of  the  Ghebers  round  their  Fire,  as 
described  by  Lord,  "  the  Daroo,"  he  says;  "  giveth  them 
water  to  drink,  and  a  pomegranate  leaf  to  chew  in  the 
mouth,  to  cleanse  them  from  inward  uncleanness." 

I  "  Early  in  the  morning,  i\>ey  (the  Parsees  or  Gheberi 
at  Oulam)  go  in  crowds  to  pny  their  devotions  to  the  Sun, 
to  whom  upon  all  the  allars  there  are  spheres  consecrated, 
made  i>y  magic,  resembling  the  circles  of  the  Sun  ;  and 
when  the  sun  rises,  these  orbs  seem  to  be  inflamed,  and 
to  turn  round  with  a  great  noi*e.  They  have  every  one 
a  censer  in  thuir  hwnds,  and  -ffer  incense  to  the  aun."— 
Rabbi  Benjamin. 


176  THE  FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 

Before  her  last  untrampled  Shrine  ! 

Brave,  suffering  souls!  they  little  knew 
How  many  a  tear  their  injuries  drew 
From  one  meek  maid,  one  gentle  foe, 
Whom  Love  first  touch' d  with  others'  wo- 
Whoso  life,  as  free  from  thought  as  sin. 
Slept  like  a  lake,  till  love  threw  in 
His  talisman,  and  woke  the  tide, 
And  spread  its  trembling  circles  wide. 
Once.  EMIR  !  thy  unheeding  child, 
Mid  a?l  this  havoc,  bloom'd  and  smil'd— 
Tranquil  as  on  some  battle-plain 

Th'j  Persian  lily  shines  and  towers, 
Befo/r,  the  combat's  reddening  stain 

Hat!i  fall'n  upon  her  golden  flowers. 
Light-hearted  maid,  unaw'd,  unmov'd, 
While  heav'n  but  spar'd  the  sire  she  lov'd, 
Once  at  thy  evening  tales  of  blood 
Unlistening  and  aloof  she  stood — 
And  oft,  when  thou  hast  pac'd  along 

Thy  Haram  halls  with  furious  heat, 
Hast  thou  not  curs' d  her  cheerful  song, 

That  came  across  thee,  calm  and  sweet, 
Like  lutes  of  angels,  touch'd  so  near 
Hell's  confines,  that  the  damn'd  can  hear; 
Far  other  feelings  Love  hath  brought — 

Her  soul  all  flame,  her  brow  all  sadness, 
She  now  has  but  the  one  dear  thought, 

And  thinks  that  o'er,  almost  to  madnera ! 
Oft  doth  her  sinking  heart  recall 
His  words — ' '  for  my  sake  weep  for  all ;" 


THE    FIKK-WOUSHirPEKS.  177 

And  bitterly,  as  day  on  day 

Of  rebel  carnage  fast  succeeds, 
She  weeps  a  lover  snatch' d  away 

In  every  Gheber  wretch  that  bleeds. 
There's  not  a  sabre  meets  her  eye, 

But  with  his  life-blood  seems  to  swim 
There's  not  an  arrow  wings  the  sky, 

But  fancy  turns  its  point  to  him. 
No  more  she  brings  with  footstep  light 
Ar,  HASSAN'S  falchion  for  the  fight  ; 
And — had  he  look'd  with  clearer  sight — 
Had  not  the  mists,  that  ever  rise 
From  a  foul  spirit,  dimn'd  his  eyes- 
He  would  have  mark'd  her  shuddering  frame 
When  from  the  field  of  blood  he  came  ; 
The  faltering  speech — the  look  estrang'd — 
Voice,  step,  and  life,  and  beauty  chang'd — 
He  would  have  mark'd  all  this  and  known 
Such  change  is  brought  by  Love  alone ! 

Ah  !  not  the  love  that  should  have  bless'd 
So  young,  so  innocent  a  breast : 
Not  the  pure  open  prosperous  love,    • 
That,  pledg'd  on  earth  and  seal'd  above, 
Grows  in  the  world's  approving  eyes, 

In  friendship's  smile  and  home's  cares*, 
Collecting  all  the  heart's  sweet  tics 

Into  one  knot  of  happiness  ! 
No,  HINDA,  no — thy  fatal  flame 
Is  nurs'd  in  silence,  sorrow,  shame. — 

A  passion,  without  hope  or  pleasure, 
In  thy  soul's  darkness  buried  deep. 
12 


1 78  THE  FIRE- WORSHIPPERS. 

It  lies  /ike  some  ill-gotten  treasure — 
Som6  idol  without  shrine  or  name, 
O'er  which  its  pale-ey'd  votaries  keep 
Unholy  watch,  while  others  sleep  ! 
Seven  nights  have  darken'd  OMAN'?  Sea, 

Since  last,  beneath  the  moonlight  lay, 
She  saw  his  light  oar  rapidly 

Hurry  her  Gheber's  bark  away — 
And  still  she  goes,  at  mjdnight  hour, 
To  weep  alone  in  that  nigh  bower,. 
And  watch,  and  look  along  the  deep 
For  him  whose  smiles  first  made  her  weep. 
But  watching,  weeping,  all  was  vain, 
She  never  saw  his  bark  again. 
The  owlet's  solitary  cry, 
The-night-hawk,  flitting  darkly  by, 

And  oft  the  hateful  carrion  bird, 
Heavily  flapping  his  clogged  wing. 
Which  reek'd  with  that  day's  banquetting,  • 

Was  all  she  saw,  was  all  she  heard. 

'Tis  the  eighth  morn — AL  HASSAN'S  brow 

Is  brighten' d  with  unusual  joy — 
What  mighty  mischief  glads  him  now, 

Who  never  smiles  but  to  destroy  1 
The  sparkle  upon  HERKEND'S  Sea, 
When  tost  at  midnight  furiously,* 

*  "  It  is  observed  with  respect  'o  the  Sen  of  Herkeiid, 
ttiat,  when  it  is  tossed  l>y  tempestuous  winds  it  sparklwi 
Vke  fire  ''•••Travels  of  two  RlcJwmmedar.s. 


THE   FinE-WOKSIIlPI'ERS.  179 

Telia  not  a.  wreck  and  ruin  nigh, 

More  surely  than  that  smiling  eye  ! 

"  Up,  daughter  up — the  Kerna's*  breath 

Has  blown  a  blast  would  waken  drath, 

And  yet  thou  sleep' st — up,  child,  and  seo 

This  blessed  day  for  heaven  and  me, 

A  day  more  rich  in  Pagan  blood 

Than  ever  flash'd  o'er  OMAN'S  flood. 

Before  another  dawn  shall  shine, 

His  head,  heart,  limbs — will  all  be  mine , 

This  very  night  his  blood  shall  steep 

These  hands  all  over  ere  I  sleep  !" 

"  His  blood  !"  she  faintly  scream'd — her  mind 

Still  singling  one  from  all  mankind — 

"  Yes — spite  of  his  ravines  and  towers, 

HAFED,  my  child,  this  night  is  ours. 

Thanks  to  all-conquering  treachery, 

Without  whose  aid  the  links  accurst, 
That  bind  these  impious  slaves,  would  be 

Too  strong  for  ALLA'S  self  to  burst ! 
That  rebel  fiend,  whose  blade  has  spread 
My  path  with  piles  of  Moslem  dead, 
Whose  baffling  spells  had  almost  driven 
Back  from  their  course  the  Swords  of  Heaven, 
This  night,  with  all  his  band,  shall  know 
How  deep  an  Arab's  steel  can  go,' 


*  A  kind  of  trumpet  :•--"  It  was  III  at  used  by  Tamer- 
Inne,  the  sound  of  which  is  described  aa  uncoivmionlj 
dreadful,  and  so  loud  as  !c  heard  e'  s  dUianceof  Be?e«»j 
miiea.  "•  -  -  fticJiordson . 


180  THE   FIRE- WORSHIPS ERS. 

When  GOD  and  Vengeance  speed  the  blow, 
^n(l — Prophet — by  that  holy  wreath . 
Thou  wor'st  on  OHOD'S  field  of  death,* 
I  swear,  for  every  sob  that  parts 
In  anguish  from  these  heathen  hearts, 
A  gem  from  Persia's  plunder' d  mines 
Shall  glitter  on  thy  Shrine  of  Shrines. 
But  ha !— she  sinks— that  look  so  wild — 
Those  lived  lips— my  child,  my  child, 
This  life  of  blood  befits  not  thee, 
And  thou  must  back  to  ARABY. 

Ne'er  had  I  risk'd  thy  timid  sex 
In  scenes  that  man  himself  might  dread, 
Had  I  not  hop'd  our  every  tread 

Would  be  on  prostrate  Persian  necks — 
Curst  race,  they  offer  swords  instead! 
But  cheer  thee,  maid— the  wind  that  now 
Is  blowing  o'er  thy  feverish  brow, 
To-day  shall  waft  thee  from  the  shore  ; 
And,  ere  a  drop  of  this  night's  gore 
Have  time  to  chill  in  yonder  towers, 
Thou' It  see  thy  own  sweet  Arab  bowers  !" 
His  bloody  boast  was  all  too  true- 
There  lurk'd  one  wretch  among  the  few 
Whom  HAFEZ'S  eagle  eye  could  count 
Around  him  on  that  Fiery  Mount. 
One  miscreant,  who  for  gold  betray' d 

*  "  Mahommed  had  two  helmets  an  interior  and  exte- 
-ior  one;  the  latter  of  which,  called  Al  Mawashah,  th« 
fillet,  or  wreathed  garland,  he  wore  a:  the  battle  of  OhoJ.' 
-Universal  History 


THE   FIRE-WORSHIPPERS.  181 

Die  path-way  through  the  valley's  si  ado 

To  those  high  towers  where  Freedom  stood 

In  lu-r  last  hold  of  flame  and  blood. 

Left  on  the  field  last  dreadful  night, 

When  sallying  from  their  Sacred  Height, 

The  Ghebers  fought  hope's  farewell  fight, 

He  lay — but  died  not  with  the  brave  ; 

That  sun  which  should  have  gilt  his  grave, 

Saw  him  a  traitor  and  a  slave  ; — 

And,  while  the  few,  who  thence  return'd 

To  their  high  rocky  fortress,  mourn' d 

For  him  among  the  matchless  dead 

They  left  behind  on  glory's  bed, 

lie  liv'd,  and,  in  the  face  of  morn, 

Laugh' d  them  and  Faith  and  heaven  to  scorn' 

Oh  for  a  tongue  to  curse  the  slave, 

Whose  treason,  like  a  deadly  blight, 
Comes  o'er  the  councils  of  the  brave, 

And  blasts  them  in  their  hour  of  might  I 
May  life's  unblessed  cup,  for  him, 
Be  drugg'd  with  treacheries  to  the  brim — 
With  hopes  that  but  allure  to  fly, 

With  joys  that  vanish  while  he  sips, 
Like  Dead-Sea  fruits  that  tempt  the  eye, 

But  turn  to  ashes  on  the  lips  ! 
H!s  country's  curse,  his  children's  shamOi 
Outcast  of  virtue,  peace,  and  fame, 
May  he,  at  last,  with  lips  of  flame 
On  the  parch' d  desert  thirsting  die — 
While  lakes  that  shone  in  mockery  nigh 
A.re  fading  off,  unnuch'd,  untasted- 


132  THE    FIRE-V.-Or.SIIIPI'EKS. 

Like  rhe  once  glorious  hopes  he  blasted ! 
And,  when  from  earth  his  spirit  flics, 

Just  Prophet,  let  the  damn'd  one  dwell 
Full  in  the  sight  of  Paradise, 

Beholding  heaven  and  feeling  hell ! 

LALLA  ROOKH  had  had  a  dream  the  night  be. 
fore,  which?  in  spite  of  the  impending  fate  ol 
poor  HAFED,  made  her  heart  more  than  usually 
cheerful  during  the  morning,  and  gave  her  cheeks 
all  the  freshened  animation  of  a  flower  that  the 
Bidmusk  has  just  passed  over.  She  fancied  that 
she  was  sailing  on  that  Eastern  Ocean,  where  the 
sea-gipsies  who  live  for  ever  on  the  water,  enjoy 
a  perpetual  summer  in  wandering  from  isle  to 
isle,  when  she  saw  a  small  gilded  bark  approach- 
ing her.  It  was  like  one  of  those  boats  which 
the  Maldivian  islanders  annually  send  adrift,  at 
the  mercy  of  winds  and  waves,  loaded  with  per- 
fumes, flowers,  and  oderiferous  wood,  as  an  of- 
fering to  the  Spirit  whom  they  call  King  of  the 
Sea.  At  first,  this  little  bark  appeared  to  be 
empty,  but  on  coming  nearer 

She  had  proceeded  thus  far  in  relating  the 
dream  to  her  ladies,  when  FERAMOKZ  appeared 
at  the  door  of  the  pavilion.  In  his  .presence,  of 
course,  every  thing  else  was  forgotten,  and  the 
continuance 'of  the  story  was  instantly  requested 
by  all.  Fresh  wood  of  aloes  was  sent  to  burn 
in  the  cassolcts ; — the  violet  sherbets  were  hasti- 
ly handed  around,  and  after  o  short  prelude  on 


THE    FIKL-WORSHIITEKS.  183 

his  lute,  in  the  pathetic  measure  of  Nava,  which 
is  always  used  to  express  the  lamentations  of  *b 

sent  lovers,  the  poet  thus  continued : — 

THE  day  is  lowering — stilly  black 
Sleeps  the  grim  wave,  while  heaven's  rack, 
Dispers'd  and  wild,  'twixt  earth  and  sky 
Hangs  like  a  shattered  canopy  ! 
There's  not  a  cloud  in  that  blue  plain, 
But  tells  of  storm  to  come  or  past ; — 
Here,  flying  loosely  as  the  m*ie 

Of  a  young  war-horse  in  the  blast ; — 
There,  roll'd  in  masses  dark  and  swelling. 
As  proud  to  be  the  thunder's  dwelling  ! 
While  some,  already  burst  and  riven, 
Seem  melting  down  the  verge  of  heaven ; 
As  though  the  infant  storm  had  rent 

The  mighty  womb  that  gave  him  birth, 
And,  having  swept  the  firmanent, 

Was  now  in  fierce  career  for  earth. 
On  earth,  'twas  yet  all  calm  around, 
A  pulseless  silence,  dread,  profound, 
More  awful  than  the  tempest's  sound. 
The  diver  steer' d  for  OKMUS'  bowers, 
And  moor'd  his  skiff  till  calmer  hours ' 
The  sea-birds,  with  portentous  screech, 
Flew  fast  to  land  :  upon  the  beach 
The  pilot  oft  had  paus'd,  with  glance 
.Turn'd  upward  to  that  wild  expanse  ; 
And  all  was  boding,  drear  and  dark 
As  her  own  soul,  when  HINDA'S  bark 


184  7HE   FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 

Went  slowly  fro'n  the  Persian  shore.— 
No  music  tim'd  her  parting  oar,* 
Nor  friends  upon  the  lessening  strand 
Linger' d  to  wave  the  unseen  hand, 
Or  speak  the  farewell,  heard  no  moro. 
But  lone,  unheeded,  from  the  bay 
The  vessel  takes  its  mournful  way, 
Like  some  ill-destin'd  hark  that  steers 
In  silence  through  the  Gate  of  Tears. t 
And  where  was  s^rn  AL  HASSAN  then 
Could  not  that  saintly  scourge  of  men 
From  bloodshed  and  devotion  spare 
One  minute  for  a  farewell  there  ? 
No — close  within,  in  changeful  fits 
Of  cursing  and  of  prayer,  he  sits 
In  savage  loneliness  to  brood 
Upon  the  coming  night  of  blood, 

With  that  keen,  second-scent  of  death> 
By  which  the  vulture  snuffs  his  food 

In  the  still  warm  and  living  breath !  t 

*  "  The  Easterns  used  to  set  out  on  their  longer  voy- 
ages with  music. — J Tanner. 

t"  The  Gate  of  Tears,  the  straits  or  passage  into  th» 
Red  Sea,  commonlv  railed  Bahelmandel.  It  received  this 
name  from  the  old  Arabians,  on  account  of  the  danger  of 
(he  navigation,  and  the  number  of  shipwrecks  bj  which 
it  was  distinguished  ;  which  induced  them  to  consider  as 
dead,  and  to  wear  mourning  for,  all  who  had  the  boldness 
to  hazard  the  passage  th.  ough  it  into  the  Ethiopic  ocean." 
•  -•Jtichardson. 

fl  have  been  told  that  whensoever  an  animal  falls  down 
(Jead^  one  or  more  vu'Iurea,  unsoon  before,  instantly  ap 


THE    FIRE-AVOKSllirPEBS.  185 

While  o'er  the  wave  h'3  weeping  daughter 

fs  wafted  from  the  scenes  of  slaughter,   ' 

As  a  young  bird  of  BABYLON,* 

Let  loose  to  tell  of  victory  won, 

Flies  home  with  wing,  ah  !  not  unstain'd 

By  the  red  hands  that  held  her  chain' d. 

And  does  the  long-left  home  she  seeks 

Light  up  no  gladness  on  her  cheeks? 

The  flowers  she  nurs'd — the  we  11- known  groves, 

Where  oft  in  dreams  her  spirit  roves — 

Once  more  to  see  her  dear  gazelles 

Come  bounding  with  their  silver  bells ; 

Her  birds'  new  plumage  to  behold, 

And  the  gay,  gleaming  fishes  count, 
She  left,  all  filletted  wifh  gold, 

Shooting  around  their  jasper  fount.t— 
Her  little  garden  mosque  to  see, 

And  once  again,  at  evening  hour, 
To  tell  her  ruby  rosary 

In  her  own  sweet  accacia  bower. 
Can  these  delights,  that  wait  her  now, 
Call  up  no  sunshine  on  her  brow? 
No — silent,  from  her  train  apart — 
As  if  e'en  now  she  felt  at  heart 


*  "  They  fasten  some  writing  to  ihe  wings  of  a  Hagdat 
or  Babylonian  pigeon.  ".*Trr>vels  of  certain  Englishmen. 

t>lThe  Empress  of  Jfhan-Guire  used  to  divert  hersell 
fith  feeding  tame  fish  in  her  canulo,  some  of  which  were 
"many  years  afterwards  known  by  fillets  of  gold,  wUkh  h« 
caused  to  be  put  round  tliem.' 


186  THE   FIRK-  WORSHIP  i'EKS. 

The  chill  of  nor  approaching  doom — 
She  sits,  all  lovely  in  her  gloom, 
As  a  pale  angel  of  the  grave ; 
And  o'er  the  wide  tempestuous  wave, 
Looks,  with  a  shudder  to  those  toweis, 
Where,  in  a  few  short  awful  hours, 
Blood,  blood,  in  steaming  tides  shall  run, 
Foul  incense  for  to-morrow's  sun! 

"Where  art  ihou,  glorious  stranger !  thou, 
So  lov'd,  so  lost,  where  art  thou  now? 
Foe— Gheber— infidel—  whate'  cr 
Th'  unhallow'd  name  thou'rt  doom'd  to  bear, 
Still  glorious— still  to  this  fond  heart 
Dear  as  its  blood,  whate' er  thou  art ! 
Yes,  ALLA— dreadful  ALLA  !  yes— 
If  there  be  wrong,  be  crime  in  Jthis, 
Let  the  black  waves  that  round  us  roll, 
Whelm  me  this  instant,  ere  my  soul, 
Forgetting  faith,  home,  father,  all — 
Before  its  earthly  idol  fall, 
Nor  worship  e'en  Thyself  above  him — 
For  oh !  so  wildly  do  I  love  him, 
Thy  Paradise  itself  were  dim 
And  joyless,  if  not  shar'd  with  him!" 
Her  hands  were  clasp' d— her  eyes  upturn'd, 

Dropping  their  tears  'ike  moonlight  rain; 
And,  though  her  lip,  fond  raver !  burn'd 

With  words  of  passion,  bold,  profane, 
Vet  was  there  light  around  her  brow 

A  holiness  in  those  dark  "yes, 


THE   FIRE  WORSHIPPERS.  187 

Which  shovv'd — though   wandering   earthward 
now — 

Her  spirit's  home  was  in  the  skies. 
Yes — for  a  spirit,  pure  as  hers, 
Is  always  pure,  e'en  while  it  errs  ; 
As  sunshine,  broken  in  the  rill, 
Though  turn'd  astray,  is  sunshine  still! 
So  wholly  had  her  mind  forgot 
All  thoughts  but  one,  she  heeded  not 
The  rising  storm — the  wave  that  cast 
A  moment's  midnight  as  it  pass'd; 
Nor  heard  the  frequent  shout,  the  tread 
Of  gathering  tumult  o'er  her  head — 
Clash'd  swords,  and  tongues  that  seem'd  to  via 
With  the  rude  riot  of  the  sky.  * 
But  hark!  that  war-whoop  on  the  deck— 

That  crash,  as  if  each  engine  there, 
Mast,  sails,  and  all,  were  gone  to  wreck, 

'Mid  yells  and  stampings  of  despair  ! 
Merciful  heaven  what  can  it  be  ? 
'Tis  not  the  storm,  though  fearfully 
The  ship  has  shuddered  as  she  rode 
O'er  mountain  waves-^"  Forgive  me,  God  ! 
Forgive  me" — shriek'd  the  maid  and  knelt, 
Trembling  all  over — for  she  felt, 
As  if  her  judgment  hour  was  near ; 
While  crouching  round,  half  dead  wi'h  fear, 
Her  handmaids  clung,  nor  breath'd  norstirr'd— 
When  hark  ! — a  second  crash — a  third — 
And  now,  as  if  a  bolt  of  thunder 
Had  riv  n  the  laboring  planks  asunder, 


i88  THE   FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 

The  deck  falls  in — what  horrors  then  ! 
Blood,  waves,  and  tackle,  swords  and  men 
Come  mix'd  together  through  the  chasm  ;- 
Some  wretches  in  their  dying  spasm 
Still  fighting  on — and  some  that  call 
"  For  God  and  IRAN  !"  as  they  fall ! 
Whose  was  the  hand  that  turn'd  away 
The  perils  of  th'  infuriate  fray, 
And  snatch' d  her,  breathless,  from  beneath 
This  wilderment  of  wreck  and  death  ? 
She  knew  not — for  a  faintness  came 
Chill  o'er  her,  and  her  sinking  frame, 
Amid  the  ruins  of  that  hour, 
Lay,  like  a  pale  and  scorched  flower, 
Beneath  the  red  volcano's  shower  ! 
But  oh  !  the  sights  and  sounds  df  dread 
That  shock' d  her,  ere  her  senses  fled! 
The  yawning  deck — the  crowd  that  strove 
Upon  the  tottering  planks  above — 
The  sail,  whose  fragments,  shivering  o'er. 
The  smugglers'  heads,  all  dash'd  with  gores 
Flutter' d  like  bloody  flags — the  clash 
Of  sabres,  and  the  lightning's  flash 
Upon  their  blades,  high  toss'd  about 
Like  meteor  brands*— as  if  throughout 

The  elements  one  fury  ran, 
One  general  rage,  that  left  a  doubt 

Which  was  the  fiercer,  Heav'n  or  Man ! 
Once  too — but  no — it  could  not  be— 

*  The  neleors  thai  Plinv  calls  «  faces." 


THE   F1RE-WORSHIPPER5.  189 

'Twas  fancy  all— yet  once  she  thought, 
While  yet  her  fading  eyes  could  see, 

High  on  the  ruin'd  deck  she  caught 
A  glimpse  of  tha,t  unearthly  form, 

That  glory  of  her  soul — e'en  then, 
Amid  the  whirl  of  wreck  and  storm, 

Shining  above  his  fellow  men, 
As  on  some  black  and  troublous  night, 
The  star  of  EGYPT,*  whose  proud  light, 
Never  hath  beam'd  on  those  who  rest 
In  the  White  Islands  of  the  West,t 
Burns  through  the  storm  with  looks  of  flame 
That  put  heaven's  cloudier  eyes  to  shame  ! 
But  no — 'twas  but  the  minute's  dream — 
A  fantasy — and  ere  the  scream 
Had  half-way  passed  her  pallid  lips, 
A  death-like  swoon,  a  chill  eclipse 
Of  soul  and  sense  its  darkness  spread 
Around  her,  and  she  sunk,  as  dead  ! 
How  calm,  how  beautiful  comes  on 
The  stilly  hour  when  storms  are  gone  : 
When  warring  winds  have  died  away, 
And  clouds,  beneath  the  glancing  ray, 
Melt  off",  and  leave  the  land  and  sea 
Sleeping  in  bright  tranquility — 
Fresh  as  if  Day  again  were  born, 
Again  upon  the  lap  of  Morn  i 

*  "  TTie  brilliant  Canopus,  unseen  in  European  eli- 
mates,  "---lirown. 

t  See  VVilford's  learned  Essay?  on  the  Sacred  Iiletia 
Ihe  West. 


190  THE   FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 

When  the  light  blossoms,  rudely  torn 
And  scatter' d  at  the  whirlwind's  will. 
Hang  floating  in  the  pure  air  still ; 
Filling  it  all  witl\piecious  balm, 
In  gratitude  for  this  sweet  calm  ; 
And  every  drop  the  thunder-showers 
Have  left  upon  the  grass  and  flowers 
Sparkles,  as  'twere  that  lightning-gem* 
Whose  liquid  flame  is  born  of  them  ! 

When  'stead  of  one  unchanging  breezej 
There  blow  a  thousand  gentle  airs, 
And  each  a  different  perfume  bears — 

As  if  the  loveliest  plants  and  trees 
•Had  vassal  breezes  of  their  own 
To  watch  and  wait  on  them  alone, 
And  waft  no  other  breath  than  theirs  ! 
When  the  blue  waters  rise  and  fall, 
In  sleepy  sunshine  mantling  all 
And  e'en  that  swell  the  tempest  leaves 
Is  like  the  full  and  silent  heaves 
Of  lovers'  hearts,  when  newly  blest, 
Too  newly  to  be  quite  at  rest ! 
Such- was  the  golden  hour  that  broke 
Upon  the  world  when  HINDA  woke 
From  her  long  trance,  and  heard  around 

*  A  precious  stone  of  the  Indies,  called  by  Hie  ancients 
Cerauri'um,  because  it  was  supposed  to  be  found  in  placei 
where  thunder  had  fallen.  Tertullinn  snys  it  has  a  glit- 
tering appearance,  as.if  there  had  been  fire  in  it  ;  and  the 
author  of  the  Disserialion  in  Harris's  Voyages  supposes  i> 
to  be  the  opal 


THE    I  lill-WORSHIPl'ERS. 

Mo  motion  but  the  waters  sound 
Rippling  against  the  vessel's  side, 
As  slow  it  mounted  o'er  the  tide. — 
But  where  is  she? — her  eyes  are  dark, 
Are  wilder' d  still — is  this  the  bark, 
The  same,  that  from  HAKMOZIA'S  bay 
Bore  her  at  morn — whose  bloody  way 
The  sea-dog  track'd  ? — no — strange  and  net 
Is  all  that  meets  her  wondering  view. 
Upon  a  galliot's  deck  she  lies, 

Beneath  no  rich  pavilion's  shade, 
No  plumes  to  fan  her  sleeping  eyes, 

Nor  jasmine  on  her  pillow  laid. 
But  the  rude  litter,  roughly  spread 
With  war-cloaks,  is  her  homely  bed, 
And  shawl  and  sash,  on  javelins  hung, 
For  awning  o'er  her  head  are  flung. 
Shuddering  she  look'd  around — there  lay 

A  group  of  warriors  in  the  sun 
Resting  their  limbs,  as  for  that  day 

Their  ministry  of  death  were  done. 
Some  gazing  on  the  drowsy  sea, 
Lost  in  unconscious  reverie  ; 
And  some,  who  seem'd  but  ill  to  brook 
That  sluggish  calm,  with  many  a  look 
To  the  slack  sail  impatient  cast, 
As  loose  it  flagg'd  around  the  mast. 
Blest  ALLA  !  who  shall  save  her  now  ? 

There's  not  in  all  that  warrior-band 
One  Arab  sword,  one  turban'd  brow' 

From  her  own  Faidful  Moslem  land 


192  THE   FIRE-  WORSHIPPERS. 

Their  garb — the  leathern,  belt*  that  wrap* 

Each  yellow  vestt — that  rebel  hue — 
The  Tartar  fleece  upon  their  capst — 

Yes — yes — her  fears  are  all  too  true, 
And  heav'n  hath,  in  this  dreadful  hour, 
Abandon'd  her  to  HAFED'S  power; — 
HAFED,  the  Gheber  ! — at  the  thought 

Her  very  heart's  blood  chills  within;— 
He,  whom  her  soul  was  hourly  taught 

To  loathe,  as  some  foul  fiend  of  sin, 
Some  minister,  whom  hell  had  sent 
To  spread  its  blast,  where'er  it  went, 
And  fling,  as  o'er  our  earth  he  trod, 
His  shadow  betwixt  man  and  God  ! 
And  she  is  now  his  captive — thrown 
In  his  fierce  hands,  alive,  alone ; 
His  the  infuriate  band  she  sees, 
All  infidels — all  enemies ! 
What  was  the  daring  hope  that  then 
Cross' d  her  like  lightning,  as  again, 
With  boldness  that  despair  had  lent, 

She  darted  through  that  armed  crowd 
A  look  so  searching,  so  intent, 

That  e'en  the  sternest  warrior  bow'd 
Abash' d,  when  he  her  glances  caught, 
As  if  he  guess'd  whose  form  they  sought, 

*  D'flerbclof,  Art.  Agduani. 

t  "The  Guebera  are  known  by  a  dark  yellow  color, 
Thich  the  men  affect  in  their  c\o\b~*."-~Thevenol. 

t  "  The  Kolah,  or  cap  worn  by  the  Persians  ia  made  it 
the  skin  of  the  sheep  of  Tartar? .'"-••  Wai-ing. 


THE   FIRE-WORSHI1PER3.  193 

But  no — she  sees  him  not — -'tis  gone — 
The  vision,  that  before  her  shone 
Through  all  the  maze  of  blood  and  storm, 
la  fled — 'twas  but  a  phantom  form — 
One  of  those  passing,  rainbow  dreams, 
Half  light,  half  shade,  which  Fancy's  beams 
Paint  on  the  fleeting  mists  that  roll 
In  trance  or  slumber  round  the  soul ! 
But  now  the  bark,  with  livelier  bound, 

Scales  the  blue  wave — the  crew's  in  motion-^ 
The  oars  are  out,  and  with  light  sound 

Break  the  bright  mirror  of  the  ocean, 
Scattering  its  brilliant  fragments  round. 
And  now  she  sees — with  horror  sees 

Their  course  is  tow'rd  that  mountain  hold — 
Those  towers,  that  make  her  life-blood  freeze, 
Where  MECCA'S  godless  enemies 

Lie,  like  beleaguer'd  scorpions,  roll'd 

In  their  last  deadly,  venomous  fold  ! 

Amid  th'  illumin'd  land  and  flood. 
Sunless  that  mighty  mountain  stood  ; 
Save  where,  above  its  awful  head, 
There  shone  a  flaming  cloud,  blood-red, 
As  'twere  the  flag  of  destiny 
Hung  out  to  mark  where  death  would  be  I 
HaJ  her  bewikler'd  mind  the  power 
Of  thought  in  this  terrific  hour, 
She  well  might  marvel  where  or  how 
Man's  foot  could  scale  that  mountain's  trow 
Since  ne'er  had  Arab  heard  or  known 
Of  path  but  through  the  g.en  alone. 
13 


194  THE   FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 

But  e\ery  thought  was  lost  in  fear, 
When,  as  their  bounding  bark  drew  ne&f 
The  craggy  base,  she  felt  the  waves 
Hurry  them  tow'rd  those  dismal  caves 
That  from  the  deep  in  windings  pass 
Beneath  the  mount's  volcanic  mass: 
And  loud  a  voice  on  deck  commands 
To  lower  the  rnast  and  light  the  brands  .•»  ' 
Instantly  o'er  the  dashing  tide 
Within  a  cavern's  mouth  they  glide, 
Gloomy  as  that  eternal  Porch 

Through  which  departed  spirits  go  ;-— 
Not  e'en  the  flare  of  brand  and  torch 

Its  flickering  light  could  further  throw 

Than  the  thick  flood  that  boil'd  below. 
Silent  they  floated — as  if  each 
Sat  breathless,  and  too  aw'd  for  speech 
In  that  dark  chasm,  where  even  sound 
Seem'd  dark — so  sullenly  around 
The  goblin  echoes  of  the  cave 
Mutter'd  it  o'er  the  long  black  wave, 
As  'twere  some  secret  of  the  grave  ! 
But  soft — they  pause — the  current  turns 
Beneath  them  from  its  onward  track ; 
Seme  mighty,  unseen  barrier  spurns 

The  vexed  tide,  all  foaming,  back, 
And  scarce  the  oar's  redoubled  force 
Can  stem  the  eddy's  whirling  course : 
When,  hark  ! — some  desperate  foot  haa  sprung 
Among  the  rocks — the  chain  is  flung- — 
The  oars  are  iin—  the  f  -apple  clings 


THE  FIRE-WORSHIPPERS.  95 

And  the  tcss'd  bark  in  moorings  swings. 
Just  then  a  day-beam,  through  the  shade, 
Broke  tremulous — but,^re  the  maid 
Can  see  from  whence  the  brightness  steals, 
Upon  her  brow  she  shuddering  feels 
A  viewless  hand,  that  promptly  ties 
A  bandage  round  her  burning  eyes ; 
While  the  rude  litter  where  she  lies, 
Uplifted  by  the  warrior  throng, 
O'er  the  steep  rocks  is  borne  along. 
Blest  power  of  sunshine  !  genial  day, 
What  balm,  what  life  is  in  thy  ray  ! 
To  feel  thee  is  such  real  bliss, 
That  had  the  world  no  joy  but  this, 
To  sit  in  sunshine  calm  and  sweet — 
It  were  a  world  too  exquisite 
For  man  to  leave  it  for  the  gloom, 
The  deep,  cold  shadow  of  the  tomb ! 
E'en  HINDA,  though  she  saw  not  where 

Or  whither  wound  the  perilous  road, 
Yet  knew  by  that  awakening  air, 

Which  suddenly  around  her  gloWd, 
That  they  had  risen  from  darkness  Ujjen, 
And  breath' d  the  sunny  world  again! 
But  soon  this  balmy  freshness  fled  : 
For  now  the  steepy  labyrinth  led 
Through  damp  and  gloom — 'mid  crash  of bough^ 
And  fall  of  loosen'd  crags  that  rouse 
The  leopard  from  his  hungry  sleep. 

Who,  staling,  thinks  each  crag  a  prey, 


i.96  THE   FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 

And  long  is  heard  from  steep  to  steep, 

Chasing  them  down  their  thundering  fvay 
The  jackal'.-?  cry — the  distant  moan 
Of  the  hyasna,  fierce  and  lone  ; — 
And  that  eternal,  saddening  sound 

Of  torrents  in  the  glen  beneath, 
As  'twere  the  ever-dark  Profound 

That  rolls  beneath  the  Bridge  of  Death  ! 
All,  all  is  fearful — e'en  to  see, 

To  gaze  on  those  terrific  things 
She  now  but  blindly  hears,  would  be 

Relief  to  her  imaginings  ! 
Since  never  yet  was  shape  so  dread, 

But  fancy,  thus  in  darkness  thrown, 
And  by  such  sounds  of  horror  fed, 

Could  frame  more  dreadful  of  her  own 
But  does  she  dream  ?  has  fear  again 
Perplex'd  the  workings  of  her  brain, 
Or  did  a  voice,  all  music,  then 
Come  from  the  gloom,  low  whispering  near— 
'  Tremble  not,  love,  thy  Gheber's  here!" 
She  does  not  dream — all  sense — all  ear, 
She  drinks^the  words,  "  thy  Gheber's  here." 
'Twas  his  own  voice — she  could  not  err — 

Throughout  the  breathing  world's  extent 
There  was  but  one  such  voice  for  her, 

So  kind,  so  soft,  so  eloquent ! 
Oh  !  sooner  shall  the  rose  of  May 

Mistake  her  own  sweet  nightingale, 
And  to  some  meaner  minstrel's  lav 


THE   FIRE-WORSHIPIERS.  197 

Open  her  bosom's  glowing  veil,* 
Thau  Love  shall  ever  doubt  a  tone, 
A.  breath  of  the  beloved  one ! 
Though  blest,  'mid  all  her  ills,  to  think 

She  has  that  one  beloved  near, 
Whose  smile,  though  me^  on  ruin's  brink. 

Hath  power  to  make  e'en  ruin  dear — 
Yet  soon  this  gleam  of  rapture,  crost 
By  fears  for  him,  is  chill' d  and  lost. 
How  shall  the  ruthless  HAFED  brook 
That  one  of  Gheber  blood  should  look, 
With  aught  but  curses  in  his  eye, 
On  her — a  maid  of  ARABY — 
A  Moslem  maid — the  child  of  him, 

Whose  bloody  banner's  dire  success 
Hath  left  their  altars  cold  and  dim, 

And  their  fair  land  a  wilderness  ! 
And,  worse  than  all,  that  night  of  blood 

Which  comes  so  fast— oh !  who  shall  sitff 
The  sword,  that  once  hath  tasted  food 

Of  Persian  hearts,  or  turn  its  way  ! 
What  arm  shall  then  the  victim  cover, 
Or  from  her  father  shield  her  lover  ? 
'  Save  him,  my  God  !"  she  inly  cries — 
11  Save  him  this  night — and  if  thine  eyes 

Have  ever  welcom'd  with  delight 
The  sinner's  tears,  the  sacrifice 

*  A  frequent  linage  among  the  oriental  poeti,  "  Thi 
nightingalea  warMed  their  enchanting  notes,  and  rent  th* 
Jjin  veils  of  the  rose-bn.J  t  ul  the  rose."-  Vo/m. 


l98  THE  FIRI>-WOHS:iI-'PERS. 

Of  si.mer's  hearts — guard  him  this  night, 
And  here,  before  thy  throne,  I  swear 
From  my  heart's  inmost  core  to  tear 

Love,  hope,  remembrance,  though  they  be 
Link'd  with  each  quivering  life-string  there, 

And  give  it  bleeding  all  to  Thee ! 
Let  him  but  live,  the  burning  tear, 
The  sighs,  the  sinful,  yet  so  dear, 
Which  have  been  all  too  much  his  own, 
Shall  from  this  hour  be  heaven's  alone. 
STouth  pass'd  in  penitence,  and  age, 
In  long  and  painful  pilgrimage, 
Shall  leave  no  traces  of  the  flame 
That  wastes  me  now — nor  shall  his  name 
E'er  bless  my  lips,  but  when  I  pray 
For  his^ear  spirit,  that  away 
Casting  from  its  angelic  ray 
Th'  eclipse  of  earth,  he  too  may^hine 
Redaem'd,  all  glorious  and  all  Thine  ! 
Think — think  what  victory  to  win 
One  radiant  soul  like  his  from  sin  ; — 
One  wandering  star  of  virtue  back 
To  its  own  native,  heaven-ward  track  ! 
Let  him  but  live,  and  both  are  Thine, 

Together  Thine — for,  blest  or  crost, 
Living  or  dead,  his  doom  is  mine ; 

And  if  he  perish,  both  are  lost !" 

THE  next  evening  LALLA.  ROOKH  was  entreat- 
ed by  her  ladies  to  continue  the  relation  of  her 
vonderf'il  dream  ;  but  the  fearful  interest  thai 


THE  FIRE-WORSHIPPERS.  199 

aung  round  the  fate  of  HCJDA  and  her  lover  had 
completely  removed  every  trace  of  it  from  her 
mind ; — much  to  the  disappointment  of  a  fair  sect 
or  two  in  her  train,  who  prided  themselves  on 
their  skill  in  interpreting  visions,  and  who  had 
already  remarked,  as  an  unlucky  omen,  that  the 
Princess,  on  the  very  morning  after  the  dream, 
had  worn  a  silk  dyed  with  the  blossoms  of  the 
Borrowful  tree,  Nilica. 

FADLADEEN,  whose  wrath  had  more  than  once 
broken  out  during  the  recital  of  some  parts  of 
this  most  heterodox  poem,  seemed  at  length  to 
have  made  up  his  mind  to  the  infliction ;  and 
took  his  seat  for  the  evening  with  all  the  patience 
of  a  martyr,  while  the  Poet  continued  his  pro- 
fane and  seditious  story  thus : —  • 

To  tearless  eyes  and  hearts  at  ease 

The  leafy  shores  and  sun-bright  seas, 

That  lay  beneath  that  mountain's  height, 

Had  been  a  fair,  enchanting  sight. 

'Twas  one  of  those  ambrosial  eves 

A  day  of  storm  so  often  leaves 

At  its  calm  setting — when  the  West 

Opens  her  golden  bowers  of  rest, 

And  a  moist  radiance  from  the  skies 

Shoots  trembling  down,  as  from  the  eyes 

Of  some  meek  penitent  whose  last 

Bright  hours  atone  for  dark  ores  past, 

And  whose  sweet  tears  o'er  -.vrong  forgiven, 

Shine,  as  they  fall   with  light  from  heaven! 


200  THIJ   FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 

'Twas  stillness  all — the  winds  that  late 

Had  rush'd  through  KERMAN'S  almond  grovoa 
And  shaken  from  her  bowers  of  date 

That  cooling  feast  the  traveller  loves,* 
Now,  lull'd  td  langour,  scarcely  curl 

The  Green  Sea  wave,  whose  waters  gleam 
Limpid,  as  if  her  mines  of  pearl 

Were  melted  all  to  form  the  stream. 
And  her  fair  islets,  smaL  and  bright, 

With  their  green  shores  reflected  there, 
Look  like  those  Peri  isles  of  light, 

That  hang  by  spell-work  in  the  air. 
But  vainly  did  those  glories  burst 
On  HINDA'S  dazzled  eyes,  when  first 
The  bandage  from  her  brow  was  taken, 
And  pale  an*aw'd  as  those  who  waken 
In  their  dark  tombs— when  scowling  near, 
The  Searchers  of  the  Grave t  appear— 
She  shuddering  turn'd  to  read  her  fate 

In  the  fierce  eyes  that  flash'd  around  ; 
And  saw  those  towers,  all  desolate, 

That  o'er  her  head  terrific  frown'd, 
As  if  defying  e'en  the  smile 
Of  that  soft  heaven  to  gild  their  pile. 

*  "  In  parts  of  Kerman,  whatever  dales  are  shaken 
from  the  trees  by  the  wina  th*>y  do  not  touch,  but  leora 
them  for  those  wh  >  have  not  any,  or  for  travellers."--- 
Ebn.  Haukd. 

fThe  two  terrible  \ngels,  Monkir  and  Nakir;  who  are 
called  "  the  Searches  of  the  Grave"  in  the  "  Creed  of 
the  orthodox  Mahometans'  *  given  by  Ockley,  vol.  ii. 


THE  FIRE-WORSHIP:  ERS  2i 

In  vain,  with  mingled  hope  and  fear, 
She  looks  for  him  whose  voice  so  dear 
Had  come  like  music  to  her  ear — 
Strange,  mocking  dream  !  again  'tis  fled, 
And  oh  !  the  shoots,  the  pangs  of  dread 
That  through  her  inmost  bosom  run, 

When  voices  from  without  proclaim 
"  HAFEI),  the  Chief!" — and  one  by  one 

The  warriors  shout  that  fearful  name  . 
He  comes — the  rock  resounds  his  tread- 
How  shall  she  dare  to  lift  her  head, 
Or  meet  those  eyes  whose  scorching  glare 
Not  YEMEN'S  boldest  sons  can  bear  ? 
In  whose  red  beam,  the  Moslem  tells, 
Such  rank  and  deadly  lustre  dwells, 
As  in  those  hellish  tires  that  light 
The  mandrake's  charnel  leaves  at  night  !* 
How  shall  she  bear  that  voice's  tone, 
At  whose  loud  battle-cry  alone 
Whole  squadrons  oft  in  panic  ran, 
Scattered,  like  some  vast  caravan, 
When,  stretch'd  at  evening  round  the  well, 
They  hear  the  thirsting  tiger's  yell  ? 
Breathless  she  stands,  with  eyes  cast  down, 
Shrinking  beneath  the  fiery  frown. 
Which,  fancy  tells  her,  from  that  brow 
Is  flashing  o'er  her  fiercely  now ; 

*  "  The  Arabians  call  the  mandrake  '  the  Devil's  e« 
die,'  on  account  of  Its  »hin;r  j  appearance  in  the  night. 
••Hichnrdaar 


202  THE  FI1  i-WORSHIPPELS. 

And  shuddering,  as  she  hears  the  tread 

Of  his  retiring  warrior  band. — 
Never  was  pause  so  full  of  dread  ; 

Till  HAFED,  with  a  trembling  hand, 
Took  hers,  and,  leaning  o'er  her,  said, 
"  HIND  A  1" — that  word  was  all  he  spoke, 
And  'twas  enough — the  shriek  that  broke 
From  her  full  bosom  told  the  rest — 
Panting  with  terror,  joy,  surprise. 
The  maid  but  lifts  her  wondering  eyes 

To  hide  them  on  her  Gheber's  breast  ! 
'Tis  he,  'tis  he — the  man  of  blood, 
The  felleat  of  the  fire -fiends  brood, 
HAFED,  the  demon  of  the  fight, 
Whose  voice  unnerves,  whose  glances 
Is  her  own  lov'd  Ghcber,  mild 
And  glorious  as  when  first  he  smil'd 
In  her  lone  tower,  and  left  such  beams 
Of  his  pure  eye  to  light  her  dreams, 
That  she  believ'd  her  bower  had  given 
Rest  to  some  wanderer  from  heaven ! 
Moments  there  are,  and  this  was  one, 
Snatch' d  like  a  minute's  gleam  of  sun 
Amid  the  black  Simoom's  eclipse — 

Or  like  those  verdant  spots  that  bloom 
Around  the  crater's  burning  lips, 

Sweetening  the  very  edge  of  doom ! 
The  past — the  future— all  that  Fate 
Can  bring  of  dark  or  desperate 
Around  such  hours,  but  makes  them  cast 
Intenser  radiance  while  they  last! 


THE   FIRE- WORSHIPPERS.  203 

E'c.i  he  this  youth — though  dimnf  d  and  gone 

Each  star  of  Hope  that  chccr'd  him  olf- 

His  glories  lost — his  cause  betray 'd — 

IRAX,  his  dear-lov'd  country,  made 

A  land  of  carcasses  and  slaves, 

One  dreary  waste  of  chains  and  graves  ! 

Himself  but  lingering,  dead  at  heart, 

To  see  the  last  long-struggling  breath 
Of  Liberty's  great  soul  depart, 

Then  lay  him  down  and  share  her  death — 
E'en  he,  so  sunk  in  wretchedness, 

With  doom  still  darker  gathering  o'er  him, 
Vet,  in  this  moment's  pure  caress, 

In  the  mild  eyes  that  shone  before  him, 
Beaming  that  blest  assurance,  worth 
All  other  transports  known  on  earth, 
That  he  was  lov'd--well,  warmly  lov'd — 
Oh!  in  this  precious  hour  he  prov'd 
How  deep,  how  thorough-felt  the  glow 
Of  rapture,  kindling  out  of  wo ; — 
How  exquisite  one  single  drop 
Of  bliss,  thus  sparkling  to  the  top 
Of  misery's  cup — how  keenly  quaff' d, 
Though  death  must  follow  on  the  draught ! 
She  too,  while  gazing  on  those  eyes 

That  sink  into  her  soul  so  deep, 
Forgets  all  fears,  all  miseries, 

Or  feels  them  like  the  wretch  in  sleep, 
Whom  Fancy  cheats  into  a  smile, 
Who  dreams  of  joy,  and  sobs  the  while  ! 
The  mighty  ruins  where  they  stood, 


204  THI   FITIE-WOUSHIPPERS. 

Upon  the  mount's  high,  rocky  verge, 
Lay  open  tow'rds  the  ocean  flood, 

Where  lightly  o'er  th'  illumin'd  surge 
Many  a  fair  bark,  that  all  the  day, 
Had  lurk'd  in  sheltering  creek  or  bay, 
Now  bounded  on  and  gave  their  sails, 
Yet  dripping,  to  the  evening  gales  ; 
Like  eagles,  when  the  storm  is  done, 
Spreading  their  wet  wings  in. the  sun. 
The  beauteous  clouds,  though  daylight's  Stai 
Had  sunk  behind  the  hills,  of  LAR, 
Were  still  with  lingering  glories  bright-  - 
As  if  to  grace  the  gorgeous  West, 

The  spirit  of  departing  Light 
.  That  eve  had  left  his  sunny  vest 

Behind  him,  ere  he  wing'd  his  flight. 
Never  was  scene  so  form'd  for  love  ! 
Beneath  them  waves  of  crystal  move 
In  silent  swell — heav'n  glows  above, 
And  their  pure  hearts,  to  transport  given, 
Swell  like  the  wave,  and  glow  like  heav'n. 
But  ah !  too  soon  that  dream  is  past — 

Again,  again  her  fear  returns  ; — 
Night,  dreadful  night  is  gathering  fast, 

More  faintly  the  horizon  burns, 
And  every  rosy  tint  that  lay 
On  the  smooth  sea  hath  died  away. 
Hastily  to  the  darkening  skies 
A  glance  she  casts — then  wildly  cries 
"At night,  he  said — and,  look  'tis  near- 
Fly,  fly — if  yet  thou  lov'st  me,  fly — 


THE   FIRE- WORSHIP!  ERS.  203 

Soon  will  ais  murderous  band  be  here, 

And  I  shall  see  them  bleed  and  die. — 
Hush  ! — heard' st  thou  not  the  tramp  of  men 
Sounding  from  yonder  fearful  glen  ? — 
Perhaps  e'en  now  they  climb  the  wood — 

Fly,  fly — though  still  the  West  is  bright,     ' 
He'll  come — oh  !  yes — he  wants  iky  blood  — 

I  know  him — he'll  not  wait  for  night !" 
In  terrors,  e'en  to  agony, 
She  clings  around  the  wandering  Chief; — 
"  Alas,  poor  wilder'd  maid !  to  me 

Thou  ow'st  this  raving  trance  of  grief. 
Lost  as  I  am,  nought  ever  grew 
Beneath  my  shade  but  perish'd  too — 
My  doom  is  like  the  Dead  Sea  air, 
And  nothing  lives  that  enters  there  ! 
Why  were  our  barks  together  driven 
Beneath  this  morning's  furious  heaven  ? 
Why,  when  I  saw  the  prize  that  chance 

Had  thrown  into  my  desperate  arms — 
When  casting  but  a  single  glance 

Upon  thy  pale  and  prostrate  charms, 
I  vow'd  (though  watching  viewless  o'er 

Thy  safety  through  that  hour's  alarms) 
To  meet  the  unmanning  sight  no  more — 
Why  have  I  broke  that  heart-wrung  vow  t 
Why  weakly,  madly  met  thee  now  ? — 
Start  not — that  noise  is  but  the  shock 

Of  torrents  through  yon  valley  hurl'd— 
Dread  nothing  here  upon  this  rock, 

We  s/and  above  the  jarring  world, 


206  THE  FIRE   WORSHIPPERS. 

Alike  beyond  its  hope — its  dread- 
In  gloomy  safety,  like  the  Dead  ! 
Or,  could  e'en  earth  and  hell  unite 
In  league  to  storm  this  sacred  height, 
Fear  nothing  thou — myself,  to-night, 
And  each  o'erlooking  star  that  dwells 
Near  God,  will  be  thy  sentinels  ; 
And,  ere  to-morrow's  dawn  shall  glow, 

Back  to  thy  sire" 

"  To-morrow ! — no1'- 

The  maiden  screamed—"  thou' It  never  see 
To-morrow's  sun — death,  death  will  be 
Tb,e  night-cry  through  each  reeking  tower, 
Unless  we  fly,  ay,  fly  this  hour  ! 
Ttypu  art  betray' d — some  wretch  who  knew 
That  dreadful  glen's  mysterious  clew — 
Nay,  doubt  not — by  yon  stars  'tis  true—? 
Hath  sold"  thee  to  my  vengeful  sire  ; 
This  morning,  with  that  smile  so  dire 
He  wears  in  joy,  he  told  me  all, 
And  stamp' d  in  triumph  through  our  hall 
As  though  thy  heart  already  beat 
Its  last  life-throb  beneath  his  feet! 
Good  heav'n,  how  little  dream'd  I  then 

His  victim  was  my  own  lov'd  youth  ! — 
Fly — send — let  some  one  watch  the  glen— 

By  all  my  hopes  of  heaven  'tis  truth !" 
CTi !  colder  than  the  wind  that  freezes 

Founts,  that  but  now  in  sunshine  play'd, 
Is  that  congealing  pang  which  siezes 

The  trusting  bosom  when  betray'd. 


THE   FIRE-WORSir.PPERS.  2ff) 

He  felt  it—deeply  felt — and  stood, 
As  if  the  tale  had  froz'n  his  blood, 

So  amazed  and  motionless  was  he ;    • 
Like  one  whom  sudden  spells  enchant, 
Or  some  mute,  marble  habitant 

Of  the  still.halls  of  ISHMONJF  !* 
But  soon  the  painful  chill  was  o'er, 
And  his  great  soul,  herself  once  more, 
Look'd  from  his  brow  in  all  the  rays  ! 
Of  her  best,  happiest,  grandest  days ! 
Never,  in  moment  most  elate, 

Did  that  high  spirit  loftier  rise  ; — 
While  bright,  serene,  determinate, 

His  looks  are  lifted  to  the  skies, 
As  if  the  signal  lights  of  Fate 

Were  shining  in  those  awful  eyes ! 
•Tis  come — his  hour  of  martyrdom 
In  IRAN'S  sacred  cause  is  come  : 
And  though  his  life  hath  pass'd  away 
Like  lightning  on  a  stormy  day, 
Yet  shall  his  death-hour  leave  a  track 

Of  glory,  permanent  and  bright, 
To  which  the  brave  of  aftertimes, 
The  sufferfng  brave,  shall  long  look  back 

With  proud  regret — and  by  its  light 

Watch  through  the  hours  of  slavery's  night 

*For  an  account  of  Ishmonie,  the  petrified  cily  in  Up- 
f»er  Egjpti  where  it  is  said  there  are  many  statuea  of 
men,  women,  etc.,  to  be  seen  to  this  daj,  see  Perry'a  7itn 


208  THE  FIRE- WORSHIPPERS. 

For  vengeance  on  the  oppressor's  crimes ' 
This  rock  his  monument  aloft, 

Shall  speak  the  tale  to  many  an  age  ; 
And  hither  bards  and  heroes  oft 

Shall  come  in  secret  pilgrimage, 
And  bring  their  warrior  sons,  and  tell 
The  wondering  bbys  where  HAFED  tell, 
And  swear  them  on  those  lone  remains 
Of  their  lost  country's  ancient  fanes, 
Never — while  breath  of  life  shall  live 
Within  them — never  to  forgive 
Th'  accursed  race  whose  ruthless  chain 
Hath  left  on  IRAN'S  neck  a  stain, 
Blood,  blood  alone  can  cleanse  again1 
Such  are  the  swelling  thoughts  that  now 
Enthrone  themselves  on  HAFED'S  brow: 
And  ne'er  did  Saint  of  ISSA*  gaze 

On  the  red  wreath  for  martyrs  twin'd, 
More  proudly  than  the  youth  surveys 

That  pile,  which  through  the  gloom  behind^ 
Half  lighted  by  the  altar's  fire, 
Glimmers — his  destin'd  funeral  pyre  ! 
Heap'd  by  his  own,  his  comrades'  hands, 

Of  every  wood  of  odorous  breath, 
There,  by  the  Fire-god's  shrine  it  stands, 

Ready  to  fold  in  radiant  death 
The  few  still  left  of  those  who  sv\  ore 
To  perish  there,  when  hope  was  o'er — 
The  few,  to  whom  that  couch  of  flame, 

*Jesua. 


THE   FIRE-WYiRSHIPPEKS.  20S 

Which  rescues  them  from  bonds  an  j  shame. 
Is  sweet  and  welcome  as  the  bed 
For  their  own  infant  prophet  spread, 
When  pitying  heaven  to  roses  turn'd 
The  death-flames  that  beneath  him  1  urn'd!* 
With  watchfulness  the  maid  attends 
His  rapid  glance,  where'er  it  bends — 
Why  shoots  his  eyes  such  awful  beams  ? 
What  plans  he  now  ?  what  thinks  or  dreama  I 
Alas!  why  stands  he  musing  here, 
When  every  moment  teems  with  fear ! 
"HAFED,  my  own  beloved  lord," 
She  kneeling  cries — "  first,  last  ador'd : 
If  in  that  soul  thou'st  ever  felt 

Half  what  thy  lips  impassion'd  swore, 
Here,  on  my  knees,  that  never  knelt 

To  any  but  their  God  before, 
I  pray  thee,  as  thou  lov'st  me,  fly — 
Now,  now — eie  yet  their  blades  are  nigh. 
Oh  haste — the  bark  that  bore  me  hither 

Can  waft  us  o'er  yon  darkening  sea 
East — west — alas,  I  care  not  wither, 

So  thou  art  safe,  and  I  with  thee  ! 
Go  where  we  will,  this  hand  is  thine, 

Those  eyes  before  me  smiling  thus, 
Through  good  and  ill,  through  storm  and  shine, 

The  world's  a  world  of  love  for  us ! 

*  "  The  Ghebers,  say  that  when  Abraham,  Iheir  great 
Prophet,  was  thrown  into  the  fire  by  order  of  Nimrod, 
lite 'flume  turned  instantly  imo  a  bed  of  roses,  where  tht 
cfcild  sweetly  reposed. "--'TYnvrm'er. 


210  THE  FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 

On  some  calm,  blessed  shore  we'll  dwell, 

Where  'tis  no  crime  to  love  too  well ; 

Where  thus  to  worship  tenderly 

An  erring  child  of  light  like  thee 

Will  not  be  sin — or,  if  it  be, 

Where  we  may  weep  our  faults  away, 

Together  kneeling,  night  and  day, 

Thou,  for  my  sake,  at  ALLA'S  shrine, 

And  I — at  any  God's  for  thine  !" 

Wildly  those  passionate  words  she  spoke  —    , 

Then  hung  her  head,  and  wept  for  shame, 
Sobbing,  as  if  a  heart-string  broke 

.With  every  deep-heav'd  sob  that  came. 

While  he,  young,  warm — oh  !  wonder  nol 
If,  for  a  moment,  pride  and  fame, 
His  oath — his  cause — that  shrine  of  flame, 

And  IRAN'S  self  are  all  forgot 
For  her  whom  at  his  feet  he  sees, 
Kneeling  in  speechless  agonies. 
No,  blame  him  not,  if  Hope  awhile 
Dawn'd  in  his  soul,  and  threw  her  smile 
O'er  hours  to  come — o'er  days  and  nights 
Wing'd  with  those  precious,  pure  delights 
Which  she,  who  bends  all  beauteous  there, 
Was  born  to  kindle  and  to  share  ! 
A  tear  or  two,  which,  as  he  bow'd 

To  raise  the  suppliant,  trembling  stole, 
First  warn' d  him  of  this  dangerous  cloud 

Of  softness  passing  o'er  his  soul. 
Starting  he  brush' d  the  drops  away, 
Unworthy  o'er  that  cheek  to  stray  ; 


THE   FIRE-WORSHIPPERS.  211 

Like  one  who,  on  the  morn  of  fight, 
Shakes  from  nis  sword  the  dews  of  night, 
That  had  but  dimn'd,  not  stain'd  its  light. 
Yet,  though  subdued  th'  unnerving  thrill, 
Its  warmth,  its  weakness  linger'd  still 

So  toucfnng  in  each  look  and  tone, 
That  the  fond,  fearing,  hoping  maid 
Half  counted  on  the  flight  she  pray'd, 

Half  thought  the  hero's  soul  was  grown    • 

As  soft,  and  yielding  as  her  own  ; 
And  smil'd  and  bless'd  him,  while  he  said— 
"  Yes — if  there  be  some  happier  sphere, 
Where  fadeless  truth  like  ours  is  dear — 
If  there  be  any  land  of  rest 

For  those  who  love  and  ne'er  forget, 
Oh  !  comfort  thee — for  safe  and  blest 

We'll  meet  in  that  calm  region  yet !" 
Scarce  had  she  time  to  ask  her  heart 
If  good  or  ill  these  words  impart, 
When  the  rous'd  youth  impatient  flew 
To  the  tower-wall,  where,  high  in  view, 
A  ponderous  sca-hprn*  hung,  and  blew 
A  signal,  deep  and  dread  as  those 
The  storm-fiend  at  his  rising  blows.— 
Full  well  his  Chieftains,  sworn  and  true 
Through  life  and  death,  that  signal  knew  ; 
For  'twas  th'  appointed  warning-blast, 

»  *  •«  The  shell  called  Siiankos,  common  lo  India,  Afri- 
ta,  and  the  Mediterranean,  and  still  used  in  many  parti 
B3  a  truvnpef,  for  blowing  iilarms  or  eivin<»  signals:  it  send* 
forth  a  deep  and  hollow  sour  I." -Pennant 


212  THE   FIRE- WORSHIP! ER9. 

Th'  alarm  to  tell  when  hope  was  past, 
And  the  tremendous  death-die  cast ! 
And  there  upon  the  mouldering  tower, 
Hath  hung  this  sea-horn  many  an  hour, 
Ready  to  sound  o'er  land  and  sea     9 
That  dirge  note  of  the  brave  and  free. 
They  came— his  Chieftains  at  the  call 
Jajne  slowly  round,  and  with  them  all 
Alas,  how  few  ! — the  worn  remains 
Of  those  who  late  o'er  KERMAN'S  plains 
Went  gaily  prancing  to  the  clash 

Of  Moorish  zel  and  tymbalon, 
Catching  new  hope  from  every  flash 

Of  their  long  lances  in  the  sun— 
And,  as  their  coursers  charg'd  the  wind, 
And  the  wide  ox-tails  stream'd  behind,* 
Looking,  as  if  the  steeds  they  rode 
Were  wing'd,  and  every  chief  a  god ! 

How  fall'n,  how  alter' d' now  !  how  wan 
Each  scarr'd  and  faded  visage  shone, 
As  round  the  burning  shrine  they  came  ;— 

How  deadly  was  the  glare  it  cast, 
As  mute  they  paus'd  before  the  flame 

To  light  their  torches  as  they  pass'd  ! 
'Twas  silence  all— the  youth  had  plann'd 
The  duties  of  his  soldier-band  ; 

»  "  The  finest  ornament  for  the  horses  la  made  of  lix 
laree  flvinff  tassels  of  long  irhile  hair,  taken  out  of  th« 
tails  of  Wild  oxen,  that  are  to  be  found  in  some  places  of 
the  Indtes."—  Tkevenot. 


THE   FIRE- WORSHIPPERS.  213 

And  each  determin'd  brow  declares 
His  faithful  Chieftains  well  knew  theirs. 
But  minutes  speed— night  gems  the  skies— 
And  oh  how  soon,  ye  blessed  eyes, 
That  look  from  heaven,  ye  may  behold 
Sights  that  will  turn  your  star-fires  cold ! 
Breathless  with  awe,  impatience,  hope, 
The  maiden  sees  the  veteran  group 
Her  litter  silently  prepare, 

And  lay  it  at  her  trembiing  feet ; — 
And  now  the  youth,  with  gentle  care, 

Hath  placed  her  in  the  shelter' d  seat, 
And  press' d  her  hand — that  lingering  press 

Of  hands,  that  for  the  last  time  sever; 
Of  hearts,  whose  ptflse  of  happiness, 

When  that  hold  breaks,  is  dead  for  ever. 
And  yet  to  her  this  sad  caress 

Gives  hope — so  fondly  hope  can  err ! 
'Twas  joy,  she  thought,  joy's  mute  excess-" 

Their  happy  flight's  dear  harbinger ; 
Twas  warmth— assurance — tenderness — 

'Twas  any  th:ng  but  leaving  her. 
"Haste,  haste!  '  she  cried,  "the  clouds  gra* 

dark, 

Rut  still,  ere  night,  we'll  reach  the  bark ; 
And  by  the  morrow's  dawn — oh  bliss  1 

With  thee  upon  the  sea-bright  deep, 
Far  off  I'll  but  remember  this, 

As  some  dark  vanish' d  dream  of  sleep ' 
And  thou" 1  ut  ah  !  he  answers  not — 

Good  heaven1  and  does  sho  gD  alone  1 


214  THE  FIRE- WORSHIPPERS. 

She  now  hath  reach'd  that  dismal  spot, 

Where  some  hours  sr.nce,  his  voice's  lon« 
Had  come  to  soothe  her  fears  and  ills, 
Sweet  as  the  Angel  ISRAFIL'S,* 
When  every  leaf  on  Eden's  tree 
Is  trembling  to  his  minstrelsy — 
Yet  now — oh  now,  he  is  not  nigh — 

"HAFED  !  my  HAFED  ! — if  it  be 
Thy  will,  thy  doom  this  night  to  die, 

Let  me  but  stay  to  die  with  thee, 
And  I  will  bless  thy  loved  name, 
'Till  the  last  life-breath  leave  this  frame. 
Oh  !  let  our  lips,  our  cheeks  be  laid 
But  near  each  other  while  they  fade  ; 
Let  us  but  mix  our  parting  breaths, 
And  I  can  die  ten  thousand  deaths ! 
You  toq,  who  hurry  me  away 
So  cruelly,  one  moment  stay — 

Oh  !  stay — one  moment  is  not  much  ; 
He  yet  may  come — for  him  I  pray — 
HAFED  !  dear  HAFED  !" — All  the  way 

In  wild  lamentings,  that  would  touch 
A  heart  of  stone,  she  shriek'd  his  name 
To  the  dark  woods — no  HAFED  came : 
No — hapless  pair — you've  look'd  your  last; 

Your  hearts  should  both  have  broken  then  : 
The  dream  is  o'er — your  doom  is  cast — 

You'll  never  meet  on  eaith  again  ! 


*  "  The  angel  Israfil,  who  has  the  most  melodJo'Jt  veto 
•fall  God's  enealures."-  -Sale. 


THE   FIKE-WORSHIF;  ERS.  21! 

Alas  for  him  who  hears  her  cries  \ — 

Still  half-way  down  the  steep  he  stands, 
Watching  with  fix'd  and  feverish  eyes 

The  glimmer  of  those  burning  brands, 
That  down  the  rocks  with  mournful  ray, 
Light  all  he  loves  on  earth  away  I 
Hopeless  as  they  who,  far  at  sea, 

By  the  cold  moon  have  just  consign'd 
The  corse  of  one,  lov'd  tenderly, 

To  the  bleak  flood  they  leave  behind  , 
And  on  the  deck  still  lingering  slay, 
And  long  look  back,  with  sad  delay, 
To  watch  the  moonlight  on  the  wave, 
That  ripples  o'er  that  cheerless  rrrave. 
But  see — he  starts — what  heard  he  therif 
That  dreadful  shout  '.—across  the  glen 
From  the  land  side  it  comfs,  and  loud 
Rings  through  the  chasrr,  as  if  the  crown 
Of  fearful  things,  that  haunt  that  dell, 
Its  Gholes  and  Dives  and  Ghapes  of  hell 
Had  all  in  one  dread  howl  broke  out, 
So  loud,  so  terrible  that  shout  \ 

"They  come — the  Moslems  come!" — hecue» 
His  proud  soul  mounting  to  his  eyes — 
"  Now  spirits  of  the  brave  who  roam 
Enfranchis'd  through  yon  starry  dome, 
Rejoice — for  souls  of  kindred  fire 
Are  on  the  wing  to  join  your^choir!" 
He  said — and,  light  as  bridegrooms  bound 

To  their  young  loves,  reclimb'd  the  steep 
And  gain'd  the  shrine  his  chiefs  stood  round'  • 


816  THK  FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 

Their  swords  as  with  instinctive  leap, 
Together  at  that  cry  accurst, 
Had  from  their  sheaths,  like  sunbeams,  buist 
And  hark !  again— again— it  rings ;  " 
Near  and  more  near  its  echoings 
Peal  through  the  chasm — oh  !  who  that  then 
Had  seen  those  listening  warrior-men, 
With  their  swords  grasp' d,  their  eyes  of  flame 
Turn'd  on  their  Chief — could  doubt  the  shame, 
Th'  indignant  shame  with  which  they  thrill 
To  hear  those  shouts  and  yet  stand  still? 
He  read  their  thoughts — they  were  his  own — 

"What!    while  our   arms  can  wield  these 
.  blades, 
Shall  we  die  tamely  ?  die  alone  ? 

Without  one  victim  to  our  shades, 
One  Moslem  heart  where,  buried  deep, 
The  sabre  from  its  toil  may  sleep  ? 
No — God  of  IRAN'S  burning  skies! 
Thou  scorn'st  th'  inglorious  sacrifice 
No — though  of  all  earth's  hope  bereft, 
Life,  swords,  and  vengeance  still  are  left. 
We'll  make  yon  valley's  reeking  cav3S 
Live  in  the  awe-struck  minds  of  men, 
Till  tyrants  shudder,  when  their  slaves 

Tell  of  the  Gheber's  bloody  glen. 
Follow,  brave  hearts  ! — this  pile  remains 
Our  refuge  still  from  life  and  chains ; 
But  his  the  best,  tfie  holiest  bed, 
Who  sinks  entomb'd  in  Moslem  dead!" 
Down  the  precipitous  rocks  they  sprung, 


THK   FIRE-WORSHIPPERS.  217 

While  vigor,  more  than  human,  strung 
Each  arm  and  heart. — Th'  exulting  foe 
Still  through  the  dark  defiles  below, 
Track' d  by  his  torcheV  lurid  fire, 
Wound  slow,  as  through  GOLCOJMDA'S  vale* 
The  mighty  serpent  in  his  ire, 
Glides-  on  with  glittering,  deadly  trail. 
No  torch  the  Ghebers  need — so  well 
They  know  each  mystery  of  the  dell, 
So  oft  have,  in  their  wanderings, 
Cross'd  the  wild  race  that  round  them  dwell 
The  very  tigers  from  their  delves 

Look  out,  and  let  them  pass,  as  things 
Untam'd  and  fearless  as  themselves ! 
There  was  a  deep  ravine,  that  lay 
Yet  darkling  in  the  Moslem's  way; — 
Fit  spot  to  make  invaders  rue 
The  many  fall'n  before  the  few. 
The  torrents  from  that  morning's  sky 
Had  fill'd  the  narrow  chasm  breast-highs 
And,  on  each  side,  aloft  and  wild, 
Huge  cliffs  and  topling  crags  were  pil'd, 
The  guards,  with  which  young  Freedom  linei 
The  pathway  to  her  mountain  shrines. 
Here  at  th  s  pass,  the  scanty  band 
Of  IRAN'S  last  avengers  stand — 
Here  wait,  in  silence  like  the  dead, 
And  listen  for  the^Moslem's  tread 
So  anxiously,  the  carrion-bird 

*  See  Hoole.  upon  the  Story  of  Sinhai 


218  THE   FIRE-WORSiUPPKRi 

Above  them  flaps  Ins  \vmgs  unheard  . 
They  come — that  plunge  into  the  water 
Gives  signal  for  the  work  of  slaughter. 
Now  Ghebers,  now — if  ere*  your  blades 

Had  point  or  prowess,  prove  them  now— 
Wo  to  the  file  that  foremost  wades ! 

They  come — a  falchion  greets  each  brow, 
And,  as  they  tumble,  trunk  on  trunk, 
Beneath  the  gory  waters  sunk, 
Still  o'er  their  drowning  bodies  press 
New  victims  quick  and  numberless; 
Till  scarce  an  arm  in  HAFED'S  band, 

So  fierce  their  toil,  hath  power  to  stir, 
But  listless  from  each  crimson  hand 

The  sword  hangs,  clogg'd  with  massacre. 
Never  was  horde  of  tyrants  met 
With  bloodier  welcome — never  yet 
To  patriot  vengeance  hath  the  sword 
More  terrible  libations  pcur'd! 
All  up  the  dreary,  long  ravine, 
By  the  red,  murky  glimmer  seen 
Of  half-quench' d  brands,  that  o'er  the  flood 
Lie  scatter' d  round  and  burn  in  blood, 
What  ruin  glares  !  what  carnage  swims  ! 
Heads,  blazing  turbans,  quivering  limbs, 
Lost  swords  that,  dropp'd  from  many  a  hand, 
In  that  thick  pool  of  slaughter  stand ; — 
Wretches  who  wading,  half  on^fire 

From  the  toss'd  brands  that  round  them  fly 
Twixt  flood  and  flame  in  shrieks  expire  : 

And  some  wha,  grasp' d  by  those  who  die, 


THE    FIRE- WORSHIPPERS.  219 

Sink  woundless  with  them,  smother' d  o'er 
In  their  dead  brethren's  gushing  gore  ! 
But  vainly  hundreds,  thousands  bleed, 
Still  hundreds,  thousands  more  succeed  ;— 
Countless  as  tow'rds  some  flame  at  night 
The  North's  dark  insects  wing  their  flight, 
And  quench  or  perish  in  its  light, 
To  this  terrific  spot  they  pour — 
Till  briug'd  with  Moslem  bodies  o'er, 
It  bears  aloft  their  slippery  tread, 
And  o'er  the  dying  and  the  dead, 
Tremendous  causeway  !  on  they  pass. — 
Then,  hapless  Ghebers,  then,  alas  ! 

What  hope  was  left  for  you  ?  for  you, 
Whose  yet  warm  pile  of  sacrifice 
Is  smoking  in  their  vengeful  eyes — 

Whose  swords  how  keen,  how  fierce   thef 
knew, 

And  burn  with  shame  to  find  how  few. 
Crush'd  down  by  that  vast  multitude, 
Some  found  their  graves  where  first  they  stood  • 
While  some  with  hardier  struggle  died. 
And  still  fought  on  by  HAFED'S  side, 
Who,  fronting  to  the  foe  trod  back 
Tow'rds  the  high  towers  his  gory  track ; 
And  as  a  lion,  swept  away 

By  sudden  swell  of  Jordan's  pride* 


*  "  In  this  thicket  upon  the  banks  of  the  Jordan,  seve- 
ral sorts  of  wild  beasts  are  wont  to  harbor  themselves, 
whose  being  cashed  jut  of  the  covert  by  the  overflowing! 


220  THE   FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 

From  the  wild  covert  where  he  lay, 

Long  battles  with  the  overwhelming  tidfr, 
So  fought  he  back  with  fierce  delay, 
And  kept  both  foes  and  fate  at  bay. 
But  whither  now  ?  their  track  is  lost, 

Their  prey  escap'd — guide,  torches  gone 
By  torrent-beds  and  labyrinths  crost, 

The  scatter' d  crowd  rush  blindly  on — 
"  Curse  on  those  tardy  lights  that  wind," 
They  panting  cry,  "  so  far  behind — 
Oh  for  a  bloodhound's  precious  scent, 
To  track  the  way  the  Gheber  went !" 
Vain  wish — confusedly  along 
They  rush  more  desperate  as  more  wrong : 
Till,  wilder' d  by  the  far  off  lights, 
Yet  glittering  up  those  gloomy  heights, 
Their  footing,  maz'd  and  lost,  they  miss, 
And  down  the  darkling  precipice 
Are  dash'd  into  the  deep  abyss  : 
Or  midway  hang,  impal'd  on  rocks, 
A  banquet,  yet  alive,  for  flocks 
Of  ravening  vultures — while  the  dell 
Re-echoes  v".th  each  horrid  yell, 
Those  sounds — the  last,  to  vengeance  dear, 
That  e,er  shall  ring  in  HAFED'S  ear, 
Now  reach  him,  as  aloft,  alone, 
Upon  the  steep  way  breathless  thrown, 

of  the  river,  gpve  occasion  to  the  allusion  of  Jeremiah, «'  hi 
shall  come,  up  hke  a  l-on  from  the  swelling  ofJordfM."--- 
Maundnll's  Ji.nmo. 


THE  FIKE-  .VORSHIPf  £RS.  231 

fie  lay  beside  his  reeking  blade, 

Resign'd,  as  if  life's  task  were  o'er, 
Its  last  blood-offering  amply  paid, 

And  IRAN'S  self  could  claim  no  more 
One  only  thought,  one  lingering  beam 
Now  broke  across  his  dizzy  dream 
Of  pain  and  \veariness — 'twas  she 

His  heart's  pure  planet,  shining  yet 
Above  the  waste  of  memory, 

When  all  life's  other  lights  were  set. 
And  never  to  his  mind  before 
Her  image  such  enchantment  wore. 
It  seem'd  as  if  each  thought  that  stain'd, 

Each  fear  that  chill' d  their  loves  was  past 
And  not  one  cloud  of  earth  remain'd 

Between  him  and  her  glory  cast ; — 
As  if  to  charms,  before  so  bright, 

New  grace  from  other  worlds  was  given 
And  his  soul  saw  her  by  the  light 
Now  breaking  o'er  itself  from  heaven! 
A  voice  spoke  near  him — 'twas  the  tone 
Of  a  lov'd  friend,  the  only  one 
Of  all  his  warriors  left  with  life 
From  that  short  night's  tremendous  strife.— 
"And  must  we  then,  my  Chief,  die  here?— 
Foes  rourfd  us,  and  the  Shrine  so  near?" 
These  words  have  rous'd  the  last  remains 

Of  life  within  him — "  what !  not  yet 
Beyond  the  reach  of  Moslem  chains?" — 

The  thought  could  make  e'en  Death  forge! 
His  icy  bondage- -with  a  bound 


222  TJE   FIRE-WORSHIPPER* 

He  springs,  all  bleeding,  from  the  ground, 
And  grasps  his  comrade's  arm,  now  grown 
E'en  feebler,  heavier  than  his  own, 
And  faintly  up  the  pathway  leads, 
Death  gaining  on  each  step  he  treads. 
Speed  them,  thou  God,  who  heard' st  their  vow 
They  mount — they  bleed — oh  sa\ie  them  now— 
The  crags  are  red  they've  clamber'd  o'er, 
The  rock-weeds  dripping  with  their  gore — 
Thy  blade  too,  HAFED,  false  at  length, 
Now  breaks  beneath  thy  tottering  strength — 
Haste,  haste — the  voices  of  the  foe 
Come  near  and  nearer  from  below — 
One  effort  more — thank  Heav'n  !  tis  past, 
They've  gain'd  the  topmost  steep  at  last. 
And  now  they  touch  the  temple's  walls, 

Now  HAFED  sees  the  Fire  divine — 
When,  lo  ! — his  weak,  worn  comrade  falls 

Dead  on  the  treshhold  of  the  Shrine. 
"  Alas,  brave  soul,  too  quickly  fled  ! 

And  must  I  leave  thce  withering  here, 
The  sport  ot  every  ruffian's  tread, 

The  mark  for  every  coward  spear  ? 
No,  by  yon  altar's  sacred  beams  !" 
He  cries,  and  with  a  strength  that  seems 
Not  of  this  world,  uplifts  the  frame    • 
Of  the  fall'n  Chief,  and  tow'rds  the  rfame 
Bears  him  along  ; — with  death-damp  hand 

The  corpse  upon  the  pyre  he  lays, 
Then  lights  the  consecrated  brand, 

And  fires  the  pile,  whose  sudden  blasa, 


THE    FIRE- WORSHIPPERS.  223 

Like  lightning  bursts  o'er  OMAN'S  Sea.— 

"  Now,  Freedom's  God  !  I  come  to  Thee/' 
The  youth  exclaims,  and  with  a  smile 
Of  tiiumph  vaulting  on  the  gik?, 
In  that  last  effort,  ere  the  fires 
Have  harm'd  one  glorious  limb,  expires  . 
What  shriek  was  that  on  OMAN'S  tide? 

It  came  from  yonder  drifting  bark. 
That  just  has  caught  upon  her  side 

The  death-light — and  again  is  dark. 
It  is  the  boat — ah,  why  delay' d  ? — 
That  bears  the  wretched  Moslem  maid 
Confided  to  the  watchful  care 

Cf  a  small  veteran  band,  with  whom 
Their  generous  Chieftain  would  not  share 

The  secret  of  his  final  doom  ; 
But  hop'd  when  HINDA,  safe  and  free, 

Was  render'd  to  her  father's  eyes, 
Their  pardon,  full  and  prompt,  would  be 

The  ransom  of  so  dear  a  prize. 
Unconscious,  thus,  of  HAFED'S  fate, 
And  proud  to  guard  their  beauteous  freight, 
Scarce  had  they  clear' d  the  surfy  waves 
That  foam  around  those  frightful  caves, 
When  the  curst  war-whoops,  known  so  well, 
Come  echoing  from  the  distant  dell — 
Sudden-each  oar,  upheld  and  still, 

Hung  dripping  o'er  the  vessel's  side 
A.nd,  driving  at  the  current's  will, 

They  rock'd  along  the  whispering  tida 
While  every  eye,  in  mute  dismay, 


224  THE   FlftE-WORSHIPPERS. 

Was  tow'ard  that  fatal  mountain  turn'd. 
Where  the  dim  altar's  quivering  ray 

As  yet  all  lone  and  tranquil  burn'd. 
Oh !  'tis  not  HIND  A,  in  the  power 

Of  fancy's  mos?  terrific  touch, 
To  paint  thy  pangs  in  that  dread  hour — 

Thy  silent  agony — 'twas  such 
As  those  who  feel  could  paint  too  well, 
But  none  e'er  felt  and  liv'd  to  tell ' 
'Twas  not  alone  the  dreary  state 
Of  a  lone  spirit,  crush'd  by  fate, 
When,  though  no  more  remains  to  dread, 

The  panic  chill  will  not  depart ; — 
When,  though  the  inmate  Hope  be  dead, 

Her  ghost  still  haunts  the  mouldering  heart 
No — pleasures,  hupes,  affections  gone, 
The  wretch  may  bear,  and  yet  live  on, 
Like  things  within  the  cold  rock  found 
Alive,  when  all's  congeal'd  around. 
But  there's  blank  repose  in  this, 
A  calm  stagnation  that  were  bliss 
To  the  keen,  burning,  harrowing  pain, 
Now  felt  through  all  thy  breast  and  brain — 
That  spasm,  of  terror,  mute,  intense, 
That  breathless,  agoniz'd  suspense, 
From  whose  hot  throb,  whose  deadly  aching 
The  heart  hath  no  relief  but  breaking  ! 
Calm  is  the  wave — heav'n's  brilliant  lights 

Reflected  dance  beneath  the  prow  ;• 
Time  was  when,  on  such  lovely  nights, 

She  who  is  there,  so  desolate  now. 


TilE   FIRE- WORSHIPPER?.  2 

Could  sit  all  cheerful,  though  alone, 

And  ask  no  happier  joy  than  seeing 
That  star-light  o'er  the  waters  thrown — 
No  joy  but  that  to  make  her  blest, 

And  the  fresh,  buoyant  sense  of  Being 
That  bounds  in  youth's  yet  careless  breast- - 
Itself  a  star,  not  borrowing  light, 
But  in  its  own  glad  essence  bright. 
How  different  now ! — but,  hark,  again 
The  yell  of  havoc  rings — brave  men  ! 
In  vain  with  beating  hearts,  ye  stand 
On  the  bark's  edge — in  vain  each  hand 
Half  draws  the  falchion  from  its  sheath ; 

All's  o'er — in  rust  your  blades  may  lie : 
He,  at  whose  word  they've  scatter'd  death, 

E'en  now,  this  night,  himself  must  die  ! 
Well  may  ye  look  to  yon  dim  tower, 

And  ask,  and  wondering  guess  what  meant 
The  battle-cry  at  this  dead  hour — 

Ah  !  she  could  tell  you — she,  who  leans 
Unheeded  there,  pale,  sunk,  aghast, 
With  brow  against  the  dew-cold  mast — 

Too  well  she  knows — her  more  than  life, 
Her  soul's  first  idol  and  its  last, 

Lies  bleeding  in  that  murderous  strife. 
But  see — what  moves  upon  the  height  ? 
Some  signal ! — 'tis  a  torch's  light. 

What  bodes  its  solitary  glare  ? 
In  gasping  silence  tow'rd  the  shrine 
All  eyes  are  turn'd — thine,  HINDA,  thine 
15 


226  THE  FlRE-WORStilfFERS. 

Fix  thoir  last  failing-life  beam  there. 
'Twas  but  a  moment — fierce  and  high 
The  death-pile  blaz'd  into  the  sky, 
And  far  away  o'er  rock  and  flood 
Its  melancholy  radiance  sent : 
While  HAFED,  like  a  vision,  stood 
Reveal' d  before  the  burning  pyftj, 
Tall,  shadowy,  like  a  Spirit  of  Fire 
Shrin'd  in  its  own  grand  element ! 
'  'Tis  he  !" — the  shuddering  maid  exclaims-* 
But,  while  she  speaks,  he's  seen  no  more  ; 
High  burst  in  air  the  funeral  flames, 

And  IRAN'S  hopes  and  hers  are  o'er ! 
One  wild,  heart-broken  shriek  she  gave—- 
Then sprung,  as  if  to  reach  the  blaze, 
Where  still  she  fix'd  her  dying  gaze, 
And,  gazing,  sunk  into  the  wave^- 
Deep,  deep — where  never  care  or  pain 
Shall  reach  her  innocent  heart  again  ! 


Farewell— farewell  to  thee,  ARABY'S  daughter ! 

(Thus  warbled  a  PERI  beneath  the  dark  sea:* 
No  pearl  ever  lay,  under  OMAN'S  green  water. 

More  pure  in  its  shell  than  thy  spirit  in  thee. 

Oh !  fair  as  the  sea-flower  close  to  thee  growing, 
How  lighf  was  thy  heart  'till  Love's  vvitcherj 


THE  FIRE-WORSHIPPERS.  227 

[/Ike  the  wind  of  the  south*  o'er  a  summer  lute 

blowing, 
And  hash' d  all  its  music  and  wither' d  its  frame ! 

But  long,  upon  ARABY'S  green  sunny  highlands, 
Shall  maids  and  their  lovers  remember  the 

doom 
Of  her,   who  lies  sleeping  among  the  Pearl 

Islands, 

With  nought  but  the  sea-start  to  light  up  her 
tomb. 

And  still,  when  the  merry  date-season  is  burn- 


ing, 
Lnd  c 


And  calls  to  the  palm-groves  the  young  and 

the  old,* 

The  happiest  there,  from  their  pastime  returning, 
At  sunset,  will  weep  when  thy  story  is  told. 

The  young  village  ma.id,  when  with  flowers  she 
dresses 

* '«•  This  wind  (the  Samoor)  so  softens  the  strings  of 

nti's,  that  \ht>y  car  never  be  luned  while  it  lasts." 

Stephen's  Persia. 

t  "  One  of  the  ^reai^st  curiosities  found  in  the  Persian 
Gulf  is  a  fish  which  the  English  call  Star-fish.  It  is  cir- 
cular, and  at  night  verj  luminous,  resembling  the  full 
moon  surrounded  by  ravs."---.Mr*a  Jlbu  faleb. 

i  For  a  description  of  the  merriment  of  the  date-time, 
ef  iheir  work,  their  dances,  end  their  return  home  front 
the  palm-grovea  at  the  end  of  autumn  with  the  fruits,  sac 
Kempfer,  siincenitnt,  Exit. 


228  THE  FIRE-WORSHIIPERS. 

Her  dark  flowing  hair  for  some  festival  day, 

Will  think  of  thy  fate  till,  neglecting  her  tresses 

She  mournfully  turns  from  the  mirror  away. 

Nor  shall  IRAN,  bc-lov'd  of  her  Hero!   forge* 

thee — 
Though  tyrants  watch  over  her  tears  as  they 

start, 
Close,  close  by  tho  side  of  that  Hero  she'll  set 

thee, 

Embalm' d  in  the  innermost  shrine  of   her 
Heart. 

Farewell — be  it  ours  to  embellish  thy  pillow, 
With  every  thing  beauteous  that  grows  in  the 

deep  ; 
Each  flower  of  the  rock  and  each  gem  of  the 

billow 
Shall  sweeten  thy  bod  and  illumine  thy  sleep. 

Around  thee  shall  glisten  the  loveliest  amber 
That  ever  the  sorrowing  sea-bird  has  wept  ;* 

With  many  a  shell,  in  whose  hollow-wreath'd 

chamber 
We,  Peris  of  Ocean,  by  moonlight  have  slept. 

We'll  dive  where  the  gardens  of  coral  lie  dark- 
ling, 


*  Some  naturalists  have  imagined  that  amber  is  a  con- 
cretion of  the  tears  of  birds.- --See  Trcvoux,  Chamber* 


*  LALLA   ROOKH.  229 

And  plant  all  the  rosiest  stems  at  thy  head  , 
We'll  seek  where  the  sands  of  the  Caspian*  are 

sparkling, 
And  gather  their  gold  to  strew  over  thy  bed. 

Farewell — farewell — until  Pity's  sweet  fountain, 

Is  lost  in  the  hearts  of  the  fair  and  the  brave, 

^1  hey'll  weep  for  the  Chieftain  who  die'd  on  that 

mountain, 

They'll  weep  for  the  maiden  who  sleeps  in 
this  wave. 

THE  singular  placidity  with  which  FADLA- 
DEEN  had  listened,  during  the  latter  part  of  this 
obnoxious  story,  surprised  the  Princess  and 
FERAAIORZ  exceedingly  ;  and  even  inclined  to- 
wards him  the  hearts  of  these  unsuspicious 
young  persons,  who  little  knew  the  source  of  a 
complacency  so  marvellous.  The  truth  was,  he 
had  been  organizing,  for  the  last  few  days,  a 
most  notable  plan  of  persecution  against  the  poet, 
'.n  consequence  of  some  passages  that  had  fallen 
from  him  on  the  second  evening  of  recital,  which 
appeared  to  this  worthy  Chamberlain  to  contain 
language  and  principles,  for  which  nothing  short 
of  the  summary  criticism  of  the  Chabuk*  would 
be  advisable.  It  was  his  intention,  therefore, 

*"The  bay  of  Kieaelarke,  which  is  otherwise  calleij 
'He  Goldim  Bay,  the  sand  whereof  shinea  as  fire."-- 
Stnty. 

f'ThpRpj:  Vi'iot  of  whips  or  »odi."---D«A0M. 


230  LALLA    ROCtH. 

immediately  on  their  arrival  at  Cashmere,  togivs 
information  to  the  King  of  Bucharia  of  the  very 
dangerous  sentiments  of  his  ministrel ;  and,  if, 
unfortunately,  that  monarch  did  not  act  with  suit- 
able vigor  on  the  occasion,  (that  is,  if  he  did  not 
give  the  Chabuk  to  FERAMOKZ,  and  a  place  to 
FADLADEEN,)  there  would  be  an  end,  he  feared, 
of  all  legitimate  government  in  Bucharia.  Ha 
could  not  help,  however,  arguing  better  both  for 
himself  and  the  cause  of  potentates  in  general ; 
and  it  was  the  pleasure  arising  from  these  min- 
gled anticipations  that  diffused  such  unusual  sa- 
tisfaction through  his  features,  and  made  his  eyea 
shine  out,  like  poppies  of  the  desert,  over  the 
wide  and  lifeless  wilderness  of  that  countenance. 
Having  decided  upon  the  Poet's  chastisement 
in  this  manner,  he  thought  it  but  humanity  to 
spare  him  the  minor  tortures  of  criticism.  Ac- 
cordingly, when  they  assembled  next  evening  in 
the  pavilion,  and  LALLA  ROOKII  expected  to  see 
all  the  beauties  of  her  bard  melt  away,  one  by 
oae,  in  the  acidity  of  criticism,  like  pearls  in  the 
cup  of  the  Egyptian  Queen — he  agreeably  dis- 
appointed her  by  merely  saying,  with  an  ironical 
smile,  that  the  merits  of  such  a  poem  deserved 
to  be  tried  at  a  much  higher  tribunal ;  and  then 
suddenly  passing  off  into  a  panegyric  upon  all 
Mussulman  sovereigns,  more  particularly  •  hia 
august  and  imperial  master,  Aurungzebe — the 
wisest  and  best  of  the  descendants  of  Timur— 
who,  among  oth^r  crcat  things  he  had  done  tbl 


AH   ORIENTAL   ROMANCE.  2'Jl 

mankind,  had  given  to  him,  FADLADELN,  the  very 
profitable  posts  of  Betel-carrier  and  Taster  oi 
Sherbets  to  the  Emperor,  Chief  Holder  of  the 
Girdle  of  Beautiful  Forms,*  and  Grand  .Nazirv 
or  Chamberlain  of  the  Harem. 

They  were  now  not  far  from  that  forbidden 
liver, t  beyond  which  no  pure  Hindoo  can  pass; 
and  were  reposing  for  a  time  in  the  rich  valley 
of  Hussun  Abdaul,  which  had  always  been  a 
favorite  resting-place  of  the  emperors  in  their 
annual  migrations  to  Cashmere.  Here  often 
had  the  Light  of  the  Faith,  Jehanguire,  wander- 
ed with  his  beloved  and  beautiful  Nourmahal, 
and  here  would  LALLA  ROOKH  have  been  happy 
to  remain  for  ever,  giving  up  the  throne  of 
Bucharia  and  the  world,  for  FERAMORZ  and  lore 
in  this  Sweet  lonely  valley.  The  time  was  now 
fast  approaching  when  she  must  see  him  no 
longer — or  see  him  with  eyes  whose  every  look 
belonged  to  another ;  and  there  was  a  melancholy 
preciousness  in  these  last  moments,  which  made 
her  heart  gling  to  them  as  it  would  to  life.  Du- 
ring the  latter  part  of  the  journey,  indeed,  she 

*  Kempfer  mentions  such  an  officer  among  the  attend- 
Biitg  of  the  King  of  Persia,  and  calls  him  "  formae  ccr- 
pom  estimator."  His  business  was,  at  stated  periods,  to 
measure  the  ladies  of  the  Harem  by  a  sort  of  regulation 
girdle,  whose  limits  it  was  not  thought  graceful  to  exceed. 
If  any  of  them  outgrew  this  standard  of  shape,  they 
irere  reduced  bj  abstinence  tilt  they  ?.»rce  withjn  iUi 
bounds. 

*The  Attoek. 


232  LALLA    ROOKH. 

had  sunk  into  a  deep  sadness,  from  which  no- 
thing but  the  presence  of  the  young  minstrel  could 
awake  her.  Like  those  lamps  in  tombs,  which 
only  light  up  when  the  air  is  admitted,  it  was 
only  at  his  approach  that  her  eyes  became  smil- 
ing and  animated.  But  here,  in  this  dear  valley, 
every  moment  was  an  age  of  pleasure  ;  she  saw 
him  all  day,  and  was,  therefore,  all  day  happy — 
resembling,  she  iften  thought,  that  people  of 
Zinge,  who  attribute  the  unfading  cheerfulness 
they  enjoy  to  one  genial  star  that  rises  nightly 
over  their  heads."* 

The  whole  party,  indeed  seemed  in  their  live- 
liest mood  during  the  few  days  they  passed  in  this 
delightful  solitude.  The  young  attendants  of  the 
Princess,who  were  here  allowedafreerrange  than 
they  could  safely  be  indulged  with  in  a  less  se- 
questered place,  ran  wild  among  the  gardens,  and 
bounded  through  the  meadows,  lightly  as  young 
roes  over  the  aromatic  plains  of  Tibet.  While 
FADLADEEN,  beside  the  spiritual  comfort  he  de- 
rived from  a  pilgrimage  to  the  tomb  o/  the  Saint 
from  whom  the  valley  is  named,  had  opportuni- 
ties of  gratifying,  in  a  small  way,  his  taste  for 
victims,  by  putting  to  death  some  hundreds  of 
those  unfortunate  little  lizards,  which  all  pious 
Musselmans  make  it  a  point  to  kill  ; — taking  for 
granted,  that  the  manner  in  which  the  creature 


»  The  star  Sche  ',  or  Canopus. 


AN  ORIENTAL,  ROMANCE.  233 

hangs  its  brad  is  meant  as  a  mimicry  of  the  at- 
litude  in  which  the  Faithful  say  their  prayers  ! 

About  two  miles  from  Hussun  Abdaul  were 
those  Royal  Gardens,  which  had  grown  beau- 
tiful under  th£  care  of  so  many  lovely  eyes, 
and  were  beautiful  still,  though  those  eyes 
could  see  them  no  longer.  This  place,  with  its 
flowers  and  its  holy  silence,  interrupted  only  by 
ihe  dipping  of  the  wings  of  birds  in  its  marble 
basins  filled  with  the  pure  water  of  those  hills, 
was  to  LALLA  ROOKH  all  fliat  her  heart  could 
fancy  of  fragrance,  coolness,  and  almost  heaven- 
ly tranquility.  As  the  prophet  said  of  Damas- 
cus, "  it  was  too  delicious  ;" — and  here  in  listen- 
ing to  the  sweet  voice  of  FERAMORZ,  or  reading 
in  his  eyes  what  yet  he  never  dared  to  tell  her, 
the  most  exquisite  moments  of  her  whole  life 
were  passed.  One  evening  when  they  had  been 
talking  of  the  Sultana  Nourmahal — the  Light  of 
the  Haram,*  who  had  so  often  wandered  among 
these  flowers,  and  fed  with  her  own  hands,  in 
those  marble  basins,  the  small  shining  fishes 
of  which  she  was  so  fond — the  youth,  in  order 
to  delay  the  momen*  of  separation,  proposed  to 
recite  a  short  story,  or  rather  rhapsody,  of  which 
this  adored  Sultana  was  the  heroine.  It  related, 
he  said,  to  the  reconcilement  of  a  sort  of  lovers' 
quarrel,  which  took  place  between  her  and  the 

*  NoiinnBhpl  signifies  Light  of  the  Harnm.  She  wai 
afterward*  ralird  h'  >urjehan,  or  the  light  of  the  World. 


234  THE  LI  ffFJI   .  F  THE  HAREM. 

Emperor  during  a  Feast  of  Roses  at  Cashmere; 
and  would  remind  the  Princess  of  that  difference 
between  Haroun-al-Raschid  and  his  fair  mistress 
Marida,  which  was  so  happily  made  up  by  the 
soft  strains  of  the  musician  Moifssali.  As.  the 
story  was  chiefly  to  be  told  in  song,  and  FERA- 
MORZ  had  unluckily  forgotten  his  own  lute  in 
the  valley,  he  borrowed  the  vina  of  LALLA 
ROOKH'S  little  Persian  slave,  and  thus  began  :— 

THE   LIGHT    OF    THE   HA  RAM. 

WHO  has  not  heard  of  the  Vale  of  CASHMERE, 
With  its  roses,  the  brightest  that  earth  ever 

gave,* 

Its  temples  and  grottos,  and  fountains  as  clear 
As  the  love-lighted  eyes  that  hang  over  their 
wave  ? 

Oh !  to  see  it  at  sunset — when  warm  o'er  the 

Lake 

Its  splendor  at  parting  a  summer  eve  throws, 
Like  a  bride  full  of  blushes,  when  lingering  to 
•     take 
A  last  look  of  her  mir,  or  at  night  ere  she 

goes  ! — 

When  the  shrines  through  the  foliage  are  gleam- 
ing half  shown, 


*  ««  The  rose  of  KHshmire,  for  its  brilliancy  and  delica 
rv  6f  color  has  long  been  p»i»»f«rbial  in  the  East. "- "For 
tier. 


THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  HAKEM.  235 

\nn  cadi  hallows  the  hour  by  some  n!es  of  ita 

own. 

[fere  the  music  of  pray'r  from  a  minaret  swells, 
Here  the  magiaa  his  urn  full  of  perfume  is 

swinging, 

And  here  at  the  altar,  a  zone  of  sweet  bells 
Round  the  waist  of  some  fair  Indian  dancer  is 

ringing.* 
Or  to  see  it  by   moonlight  —  when    mellowly 

shines 

The  light  o'er  its  palaces,  gardens  and  shrinos  ; 
When  the  water-falls  gleam  like  a  quick  fall  of 

stars, 
And  the  nightingales   hymn  frojn  the  Isle  of 

Chenars 

Is  broken  by  laughs  and  wild  echoes  of  feet 
From  the  cool,  shining  walks  where  the  young 

-people  meet  :  — 

Or  at  morn  when  the  magic  of  day-light  awake* 
A  new  wonder  each  minute,  as  slowly  it  breaks, 
Hills,  cupolas,  fountains,  caH'd  forth  every  one 
Out  of  daikness,  as  they  were  just  born  of  the 

Sun. 
When  the   spirit  of  Fragrance  is  up  with  the 

day, 

From  his  Haram  of  night-flowers  stealing  away  ; 
And  the  wind  full  of  wantonness,  woos.  like  a 

lover. 


*',  Tied  round  her  waist  the  zone  oflvells,  that 
eJ  with  ravishing  melody."  •••  Song  of  Jayadeva. 


236  THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  HAREM. 

The  young  aspen-trees*  till  they  tremble  all  over. 
When  the  East  is  as  warm  as  the  light  of  first 

hopes, 

And  Day,  with  its  banner  of  radiance  unfurl'd, 
Shines  in  through  the  mountainoust  portal  that 

opes, 
Sublime,  from  that  valley  of  bliss  to  the  world ' 

But  never  yet,  by  night  or  day, 
In  dew  of  spring  or  summer's  ray, 
Did  the  sweet  Valley  shine  so  gay 
As  now  it  shines — all  love  andvlight. 
Visions  by  day  and  feasts  by  night ! 
A  happier  snyle  illumes  each  brow, 

With  quicker  spread  each  heart  uncloses, 
And  all  is  ecstacy— for  now 

The  Valley  holds  its  Feast  of  Roses,  t 
That  joyous  time  when  pleasures  pour 
Profusely  round,  and  in  their  shower 
Hearts  open,  like  the  Season's  Rose — 

The  flowret  of  a  hundred  leaves, § 
Expanding  while  the  dew-fall  flows, 


*  "  The  lillle  Isles  in  the  l.alce  of  Cachemire  are  iet 
wiih  arbors  and  large-leaved  aspen-trees,  slender  and 
tail." •••Bernier. 

t  "  The  Tuclct  Snliman,  the  nam-j  bestowed  by  the 
Mahometans  on  this  hill,  forms  one  side  of  a  grand  por- 
tal lo  the  Lake."—  Forster. 

t  "  The  Feast  cf  Roses  eontir.ups  the  whole  time  of 
(heir  remaining;  in  bloom. "---See  Pietrn  de  la  VaJ.le. 

$  "  Gul  sad  berk,  the  Rose  of  a  hundred  leaves.  I  te- 
Uwea  particular  species. "•-• 


THE  LIG  aT  OF  THJ  HAREM.  237 

And  every  leaf  its  balm  receives  ! 
Twas  when  the  hoar  of  evening  came 

Upon  the  Lake,  serene  and  cool, 
When  Day  had  hid  its  sultry  flame 

Behind  the  palms  of  BARAMOULE.* 
When  maids  began  to  lift  their  heads, 
Refresh'd.  from  their  embroid'd  beds. 
Where  they  had  slept  the  sun  away, 
And  wak'd  to  moonlight  and  to  play. 
All  were  abroad — the  busiest  hive 
On  BELA'st  hJls  is  less  alive 
When  saffron  beds  are  full  in  flower, 
Than  looked  the  Valley  at  that  hour. 
A  thousand  restless  torches  play'd 
Through  every  grove  and  island  shade  ; 
A  thousand  sparkling  lamps  were  set 
On  every  dome  and  minaret  ; 
And  fields  and  pathways,  far  and  near, 
Were  lighted  by  a  blaze  so  clear, 
That  .you  could  see,  in  wandering  around, 
The  smallest  rose-leaf  on  the  ground. 
Yet  did  the  maids  and  matrons  leave 
Their  veils  at  home,  that  brilliant  eve ; 
And  there  were  glancing  eyes  about, 
And  cheeks  that  would  not  dare  shine  cut 
In  open  day,  but  thought  they  might 
Look  lovely  then,  because  'twas  night ! 

»  Bern  it-r. 

t  A  place  mentioned  in  the  Toozek  Jehanpeerr,  of 
Memoirs  of  Jehanguire,  where  there  is  an  account  of  tbt 
*»ed»  of  saffron  flowers  about  Cashmere 


238  THE  LIGHT  OF  IHE  HAREM. 

And  all  were  free,  and  wandering, 

And  all  exclaim'd  to  all  they  met, 
That  never  did  the  summer  bring 
So  gay  a  Feast  of  Roses  yet ;— - 
The  moon  had  never  shed  a  light 

So  clear  as  that  which  bless' d  them  there J 
The  roses  ne'er  shone  half  so  bright, 

Nor  they  themselves  look'd  half  so  fair. 
And  what  a  wilderness  of  flowers  ! 
It  seem'd  as  though  from  all  the  bowers 
And  fairest  fields  of  all  the  year, 
The  mingled  spoil  were  scatter' d  here. 
The  Lake,  too,  like  a  garden  breathes, 
With  the  rich  buds  that  o'er  it  lie- 
As  if  a  shower  of  fairy  wreaths 
Had  fall'n  upon  it  from  the  sky ! 
And  then  the  sounds  of  joy — the  beat 
Of  tabors  and  of  dancing  feet : 
The  minaret-cryer's  chant  of  glee 
Sung  from  his  lighted  gallery,* 
And  answer'd  by  a  ziraleet 
From  neighboring  Harem,  wild  and  sweet  ;— 
The  merry  laughter  echoing 
From  gardens,  where  the  silken  swing 
Wafts  some  delighted  girl  above 
The  top  leaves  of  the  orange  grove  ; 

*  "  It  is  the  custom  among  the  women  to  employ  the 
Maazeen  to  chant  from  ihe  gallery  of  the  nearest  mina- 
ret, which  on  that  occasion  is  illuminated,  and  the  women 
assembled  at  the  house  respond  at  intervals  with  n  zira« 
'eet  or  jo  -oU3  chorus. "---PusscM. 


THE  LlGH-1  OF  THE  EAUAtt.  83? 

Or,  from  those  infant  groups  at  play 
Among  the  tents*  that  line  the  way, 
Flinging,  unaw'd  by  slave  or  mother, 
Handfuls  of  roses  at  each  other  ! — 

And  the  sounds  from  the  Lake— the  low  whisp'- 

ring  boats,  *t 

As  they  shoot  through  the  moonlight ; — the 

dipping  of  oars, 
And  the  wild,  airy  warbling  that  every  where 

floats, 
Through  the  groves,  round  the  islands,  as  if 

all  the  shores, 

Like  those  of  KATKAY,  utter' d  music,  and  gave 
An  answer  in  song  to  the  kiss  of  each  wave  !t 
But  the  gentlest  of  all  are  those  sounds,  full  of 

feeling, 

That  soft  from  the  lute  of  some  lover  are  stealing- 
Some  lover  who  knows  all  the  heart-touching 

power 

Of  a  lute  and  a  sigh  in  this  magical  hour. 
Oh !  best  of  delights  as  it  every  where  is, 


*  "  At  the  keeping  of  the  Feast  of  Rosea  we  belieM  an 
Infinite  number  of  lenis  pitched,  with  such  a  crowd  of 
men,  women,  and  boys  and  gii  Is,  with  music,  dances,"  cte. 
ete  —Herbert. 

f"  An  old  commentator  of  the  Chou-King  says,  the 
ancients  having  remarked  that  a  current  of  water  mads 
•ome  of  the  stones  near  its  banks  send  forth  a  sound, 
Ihej  detatched  some  of  them,  and  being  charmed  with  th« 
delightful  Round  they  emitted,  constructed  King  or  rnutfi- 
*al  instruments  of  ihem."-~Grosier 


240  THE  LIGHT  CF  THE  HARAM. 

To  be  near  the  Tov'd  One — what  a  raplareis  his 
Who  in  moonlight  and  music  thus  sweetly  may 

glide 
O'er  the  Lake  of  CASHMERE,  with  that  One  by 

his  side  ! 

If  women  can  make  the  worst  wilderness  dear. 
Think,  think  what  a  heav'n  she  must  make  6 

CASHMERE  ! 

So  felt  the  magnificent  son  of  ACBAR,* 

When  from  power  and  pomp,  and  the  trophic* 

of  war, 

fie  flew  to  that  Valley,  forgetting  them  all 
With  the  Light  of  the  tlaram,  his  young  NOUR- 

MAHAL. 

When  free  and  uncrown'  d  as  the  Conqueror  rov'd 
By  the  banks  of  that  Lake,  with  his  only  belov'd, 
He  saw,  in  the  wreaths  she  would  playfully 

snatch 
From  the  hedges,  a  glory  his  crown  could  not 

match, 
And  preferr'd  m  his  heart  the  least  ringlet  that 

curl'd 
Down  her  exquisite  neck  to  the  throne  of  the 

world ! 

There's  a  beauty,  for  ever  unchangingly  bright 
f.ike  the  long,  sunny  lapse  of  a  summer-day'* 
light, 

«  Jehangu:re  was  the  son  of  the  Great  Ac-bar. 


TI12  LIGHT  OF  THE  IIARA.lt.  24l 

Shining  on,  shining  on,  by  no  shadow  mac/c  ten 

der, 

Till  love  falls  asleep  in  its  sameness  of  splendor. 
This  ions  not  the  beauty — oh  !  nothing  like  this, 
That  to  young  NOURMAHAL  gave  .such  magic  oi 

bliss  ; 

But  that  loveliness,  ever  in  motion,  which  plays 
Like  the  light  upon  Autumn's  soft  shadowy  days, 
Now  here,  and  now  there,  giving  warmth  as  it 

flies, 
From  the  lips  to  the  check,  from  the  cheeks  to 

the  eyes, 
Now    melting  in   mist  and  now  breaking   in 

gleams, 
Like  the  glimpses  a  saint  hath  of  heav'n  in  his 

dreams  ! 

When  pensive  it  seem'J  as  if  that  very  grace, 
That  charm  of  all  others  was  born  with  her  face  ; 
And  when  angry — for  e'en  in  the  tranquilles'i 

climes 
Light  breezes   will  ruffle  the  blossoms  some 

times — 

That  short  passing  anger  but  seem'd  to  awaken 
New  beauty,  like  flowers  that  arc  sweetest  when 

shaken. 

If  tenderness  touch' d  her,  the  dark  of  her  eyo 
At  once  took  a  darker,  a  heavenlicr  dye, 
From  the  depth  of  whose  shadow,  like  holy  re- 

vealings 
From  innermost  shrines,  cams  the  light  of  nei 

feelings ! 

Ifi 


842  THE  LI&KT  OF  1HE  HARAA1. 

Then  her  mirth— oh !  'twas  sportive  as  ever  took 

wing 
From  the  heart  with  a  burst,  like  a  wild-bird  in 

Spring : 

Ilium' d  by  a  wit  that  would  fascinate  sages, 
Yet  playful  as  Peris  just  loos'd  from  their  cages,* 
While  her  laugh,  full  of  life,  without  any  con- 
trol 
But  the  sweet  one  of  gracefulness,  rung  fomher 

soul ; 

And  where  it  most  sparkled  no  glance  could  dis- 
cover, 
In  lip,  cheek,  or  eyes,  for  she  brighten'd  ah 

over — 

Like  any  fair  lake  that  the  breeze  is  upon, 
When  it  breaks  into  dimples  and  laughs  in  the  sun- 
Such,  such  were  the  peerless  enchantments  tha- 

gave 
NoaRMAHAL  the  proud  Lord  of  the  East,  for  her 

slave  ; 
And  though  bright  was  his  Haram— a  living 

parterre 

Oftheflowerstof  this  planet— though  treasures 
were  there 


*"  In  the  wars  of  the  Dives  with  the  Peris,  whenever 
the  former  took  the  latter  prisoners  they  shut  them  up  in 
iron  cages,  and  hung  them  on  the  highest  trees.  Here 
they  were  visited  by  their  companions,  who  brought  them 
the  choicest  odors.. ".--Richardson. 

+  In  the  Malay  language  the  same  word  signifies  wo  mea 
and  florers. 


THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  HARAM.  243 

For  which  SOLIAIAN'S  self  might  have  given  all 

the  store 
That  the  navy  from   OmiR  e'er  wing'd  to  his 

shore, 

Yet  dim  before  Tier  were  the  smiles  of  them  all, 
And  the  Light  of  his  Haram  was  young  NOUR 

MAHAL ! 

But  where  is  she  now,  this  night  of  joy, 

When  bliss  is  every  heart's  employ  ? — 

When  all  around  her  is  so  bright, 

So  like  the  visions  of  a  trance, 

That  one  might  think,  who  came  by  chance 

Into  the  vale  this  happy  night, 

He  saw  the  City  of  Delight* 

In  fairy-land,  whose  streets  and  towers 

Are  made  of  gems,  and  light,  and  flowers  ! 

Where  is  the  lov'd  Sultana  ?  where, 

When  mirth  brings  out  the  young  and  fair, 

Does  she,  the  fairest,  hide  her  brow, 

In  melancholy  stillness  now  ? 

Alas — how  light  a  cause  ;nay  move 

Dissensions  between  hearts  that  love  ! 

Hearts  that  the  world  in  vain  had  tried ; 

And  sorrow  but  more  closely  tied  ; 

That  stood  the  storm,  when  waves  were  rough, 

Yet  in  a  sunny  hour  fall  off, 

Like  ships  that  have  gone  down  at  sea, 

*  Th»  capital  of  ShadulriaTi. 


244  THE  LISH1     -F  THE  HARAM. 

When  heav'n  was  all  tranquillity  ! 
A  something,  light  as  air— a  look, 

A  word  unkind,  or  wrongly  taken 
Oh  !  love,  that  tempests  never  shook, ' 

A  breath,  a  touch  like  this  hath  shaken. 
And  ruder  words  will  soon  rush  in 
To  spread  the  breach  that  words  begin : 
And  eyes  forget  the  gentle  ray 
They  wore  in  courtship's  smiling  day  ; 
And  voices  lose  the  tone  that  shed 
A  tenderness  round  all  they  said ; 
Till  fast  declining,  one  by  one, 
The  sweetnesses  of  love  are  gone, 
And  hearts,  so  lately  mingled,  seem 
Like  broken  clouds— or  like  the  stream, 
That  smiling  left  the  mountain's  brow, 

As  though  its  waters  ne'er  could  sever. 
Yet,  ere  it  reach  the  plain  below, 

Breaks  into  floods,  that  part  for  ever. 

Oh  you,  that  have  the  charge  of  Love, 

Keep  him  in  rosy  bondage  bound, 
As  in  the  Fields  of  Bliss,  above, 

He  sits,  with  flowrets  fetter' d  round  ;* 
Loose  not  a  tie  that  round  him  clings, 
Nor  ever  let  him  use  his  wings : 
For  ev'n  an  hour,  a  minute's  flight, 
Will  rob  the  plumes  of  half  their  light. 

*  See  the  representation  orthe  Eastern  Cupid  pinioned 
closely  round  with  wreaths  ol  flowers,  in  Picart'a  Cererao 


THE  U  HIT  OF  THE  HARAM.  245 

Like  that  celestial  bird — whose  nest 

Is  found  beneath  far  Eastern  skies— 
Whose  wings,  though  radiant  when  at  rest. 

Loose  all  their  glory  when  he  flies  !* 
Some  difference,  of  tliis  dangerous  kind — 
By  which,  though  light   the  links  that  bind 
The  fondest  hearts  may  soon  be  riven ; 
Some  shadow  in  love's  summer  heaven, 
Which,  though  a  fleecy  speck,  at  first, 
May  yet  in  awful  thunder  burst ; 
Such  cloud  it  is,  that  now  hangs  over 
The  heart  of  the  Imperial  Lover, 
And  far  hath  banish' d  from  his  sight 
His  NOURMAHAL,  his  Haram's  Light! 
Hence  is  it,  on  this  happy  night, 
When  Pleasure  through  the  fields  and  groves 
Has  let  loose  all  her  world  of  loves, 
And  every  heart  has  found  its  own — 
He  wanders,  joyless  and  alone, 
And  weary  as  that  bird  of  Thrace, 
Whose  pinion  knows  no  resting-place.t 
In  vain  the  loveliest  cheeks  and  eyes 
This  Eden  of  the  earth  supplies 
Come  crowding  round — the  cheeks  are  pale, 

*  "Aimng  the  birds  of  Ton  pin  is  a  speciesofgoldfinr.il, 
which  tings'so  melodiously  ti.at  it  is  called  the  Celestial 
Bird.  Its  wings,  when  it  is  perched,  appear  variegated 
wiih  beautiful  colours,  but  when  it  flies  they  lose  all  their 
splendor. "•••  Grosier. 

t  "  As  these  birds  on  the  Bosphorua  are  never  known 
to  rest,  they  aro  called  by  the  French  '  lesamea  dumaees.' 

! 

. 


i'46  THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  HAEEM. 

The  eyes  are  dim — though  rich  the  sp* 
With  every  flower  this  earth  has  got, 

What  is  it  to  the  nightingale, 
If  there  his  darling  rose  is  not  ?* 
In  vain  the  Valley's  smiling  thron^ 
Worship  him  as  he  moves  along  ; 
He  heeds  them  not — one  smile  of  hfirs 
Is  worth  a  wo/Id  of  worshippers ; 
They  but  the  Star's  adorers  are, 
She  is  the  Heav'n  that  lights  the  Star  ' 

Hence  is  it  too,  that  NOURMAHAL, 

Amid  the  luxuries  of  this  hour, 
Far  from  the  joyous  festival, 

Sits  in  her  own  sequester'd  bower, 
With  no  one  near,  to  sooth  or  aid, 
But  that  inspir'd  and  wond'rous  maid. 
NAMOUNA,  the  Enchantress  ; — one, 
O'er  whom  his  race  the  golden  sun 
For  unremember'd  years  has  run, 
Yet  never  saw  her  blooming  brow 
Younger  or  fairer  than  'tis  now. 
Nay,  rather,  as  the  west  wind's  sigh 
Freshens  the  flower  it  passes  by, 
Time's  wing  but  seem'd,  in  stealing  r'ei 
To  leave  her  lovelier  than  before. 
Yet  on  her  smiles  a  sadness  hung, 

+  "  You  may  place  a  hundred  handfuls  of  fragrant 
herbi  and  flowers  '/efr  -e  the  nightingale,  yet  he  wishes  not. 
In  his  c  nstint  heurt  /or  or  -e  than  the  sweet  breath  of  his 
1^  4r  *l  (  P.'  -•*>.& 


THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  HAIEM.  247 

\nd  whe.i,  as  oft,  she  spoke  or  sung 
Of  ether  worlds,  there  came  a  light 
From  her  dark  eyes  so  strangely  bright, 
That  all  believM  nor  man  nor  earth 
Were  conscious  of  NAMOUNA'S  birth ! 
All  spells  and  talismans  she  knew, 

From  the  great  Mantra,*  which  around 
The  Air's  sublimer  spirits  drew, 

To  the  gold  gemst  of  AFRIC,  bound 
Upon  the  wandering  Arabs  arm, 
To  keep  him  from  the  Siltim'st  harm. 
And  she  had  pledg'd  her  powerful  art, 
Pledg'd  it  with  all  the  zeal  and  heart 
Of  one  who  knew,  though  high  her  sphere. 
What  'twas  to  lose  a  love  so  dear, 
To  find  some  spell  that  should  recall 
Her  SELIM'S$  smile  to  NOUEMAHAL  ! 

'Twas  midnight — through  the  lattice,  wreath' d 
With  woodbine,  many  a  perfume  breath'd 
From  plants  that  wake  when  others  sleep, 
From  timid  jasmine  buds,  that  keep 

*  "  He  is  said  to  have  found  the  great  Mantra,  spell  or 
talisman,  through  which  he  ruled  over  the  elements  and 
spirits  of  all  denominations. "---Wil/ord. 

f  "  The  gold  jewels  of  Jinnie,  which  are  called  hj  the 
Arabs  El  Herrez,  from  the  supposed  charm  they  contain." 
'••Jackson 

f  «'A  demon,  supposed  to  haunt  woods,  &c.  in  a  human 
shape  "---Richardson. 

$  "  The  name  of  Jehanguire  before  his  accession  to  the 
throne 


248  THE  .,1GHT  OF  THE  HAREM. 

Their  ocbr  to  themselves  all  day, 

But,  when  the  sun-light  dies  away 

Let  the  delicious  secret  out 

To  every  breeze  that  roams  about; 

When  thus  NAMOUNA  : — "  'Tis  the  hour 

That  scatters  spells  on  herb  and  flower, 

And  garlands  might  be  gather' d  now, 

That,  twin'd  around  the  sleeper's  brow, 

Would  make  him  dream  of  such  delights, 

Such  miracles  and  dazzling  sights, 

As  Genii  of  the  Sun  behold, 

At  evening  from  their  tents  of  gold 

Upon  the  horizon — where  they  play 

Till  twilight  comes,  and,  ray  by  ray, 

Their  sunny  mansions  melt  away  ! 

Now,  too,  a  chaplet  might  be  wreath'd 

Of  buds  o'er  which  the  moon  has  breathed, 

Which  worn  by  her,  whose  love  has  stray'd, 

Might  bring  some  Peri  from  the  skies, 
Some  sprite,  whose  very  soul  is  made 

Of  flowrets'  breaths,  and  lovers'  sighs, 

And  who  might  tell" 

"  For  me,  for  me,* 
Cried  NOURMAIIAL  impatiently — 
"  Oh !  twine  that  wreath  for  me  to-night." 
Then  rapidly  with  foot  as  light 
As  the  young  musk-roe's,  cut  she  flew 
To  cull  each  shining  leaf  that  grew 
Beneath  the  moonlight's  hallowing  beams 
For  this  enchanted  Wreath  of  Dreams. 


THE  LIGHT  OF  TII£  HAREM.  249 

Anemones  and  Seas  of  ^old.* 

And  new  blown  lilies  of  the  river, 
And  those  sweet  flowrets,  that  unfold 

Their  buds  on  CAMEDEVA'S  quiver  ;t 
The  tube-rose,  with  her  silvery  light, 

That  in  the  Gardens  of  MALAY 
Is  call'd  the  Mistress  of  the  Night,  t 
So  like  a  bride,  scented  and  bright, 

She  comes  out  when  the  sun's  away. 
Amaranths,  such  as  crown  the  maids 
That  wander  through  ZAMARA'S  shades  ;$ 
And  the  white  moon-flower,  as  it  shows 
On  ZERENDIB'S  high  crags  to  those 
Who  near  the  isle  at  evening  sail, 
Scenting  her  clove  trees  in  the  gale ; — 
In  short,  all  flowrets  and  all  plants, 


*"  HemaPagare,  or  the  Sea  of  Gold,  with  flowers  of  th« 
brichtest  gold  color."- --Sir  W.  Jones. 

t  "  This  tree  (the  Nacacessara)  is  one  of  the  most  de- 
lightful on  earth,  and  the  delicious  odor  of  its  blossoms 
justly  gives  them  a  jilace  in  the  quiver  or  Camadeva,  or 
'the  God  of  I.ove."---76. 

t"  The  Malayans  style  the  lime-rose  (Poliantlies  tube- 
rosa)  Sandal  Malam,  or  the  Mis'ress  of  the  Night."--- 
Pennant. 

$  The  people  of  the  Batta  country  in  Sumatra  (ol 
which  Zamara  is  one  of  the  ancient  names)"  when  not 
engaged  in  war,  lead  an  idle,  inactive  life,  passing  the  day 
n  playing  on  a  kind  of  flute,  crowned  with  garlands  of 
flowers,  amcng  which  the  globe-amaranthus,  a  native  o/ 
the  country  ,  mostly  prevails  "•••Alarsdai. 


250  THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  HAREM. 

From  the  divine  Amrita  tree,* 
That  blesses  heaven's  inhabitants 

With  fruits  of  immortality, 
Down  to  the  basilt  tuft,  that  waves 
[ts  fragrant  blossom  over  graves, 
And  to  the  humble  rosemary, 
Whose  sweets  so  thanklessly  are  shed 
To  scent  the  desertt — and  the  dead — 
All  in  that  garden  bloom,  and  all 
Are  gather1  d  by  young  NOURMAHAL, 
Who  heaps  her  baskets  with  the  flowers 

And  leaves,  till  they  can  hold  no  more, 
Then  to  NAMOUNA  flies,  and  showers 

Upon  her  lap  the  shining  store. 

With  what  delight  th'  Enchantress  views 

So  many  buds,  bath'd  with  the  dews 

And  beams  of  that  bless'd  hour ! — her  glanc* 

Spoke  something,  past  all  mortal  pleasures, 
As,  in  a  kind  of  holy  trance, 

She  hung  above  those  fragrant  treasures, 
Bending  to  drink  their  balmy  airs, 
As  if  she  mix'd  her  soul  with  theirs. 
And  'twas,  indeed,  the  perfume  shed 

*  "  fhe  largest  and  richest  sort  (of  the  Jambu  or  rose- 
apple)  is  called  Amrita  or  immortal,  and  the  mythologist* 
of  Tibet  apply  the  name  word  to  a  celestial  tree,  bearing 
ambrosial  fruit."--  Sir  W.  Jones. 

t  Sweet-basil,  called  Rajhan  in  Persia,  and  generally 
found  in  church-yards. 

J  "  In  the  Great  Desert  are  found  many  stalks  of  la 
vecie*  and  rosemary."-  -Jlsial  Hes. 


THE  LIGHT  OF  THi  IIARAM.  25) 

From  flow'rs  and  scented  flame  that  fed 
Her  charmed  life — tor  none  had  e'er 
Beheld  her  taste  of  mortal  fare, 
Nor  ever  in  aught  earthly  dip, 
But  the  morn's  dew,  her  roseate  lip. 
Fill'd  with  the  cool,  inspiring  smell, 
Th'  Enchantress  now  begins  her  spell, 
Thus  singing  as  she  winds  and  weaves 
In  mystic  form  the  glittering  leaves : — 


I  know  where  the  winged  visions  dwell 

That  round  the  night-bed  play  ; 
I  know  each  herb  and  flowret's  bell, 
Where  they  hide  their  wings  by  day. 
Then  hasten  we,  maid, 
To  twine  our  braid, 
To-morrow  the  dreams  and  flowers  will  fada. 

The  image  of  love,  that  nightly  flies 

To  visit  the  bashful  maid, 
Steals  from  the  jasmine  flower,  that  sighs 

Its  soul,  like  her,  in  the  shade. 
The  hope,  in  dreams,  of  a  happier  hour 

That  alights  on  misery's  brow, 
Springs  out  of  the  silvery  almond-flower, 
That  blooms  on  a  leafless  bough,* 


*"  The  Almond-tree,  with  white  flowen,  blcMorrw  el 
the  bare  branches."-    Hasselguist. 


852  THE  LIGHT   OF  THE  HARAM. 

Then  hasten  we,  maid, 
To  twine  our  braid, 
To-morrow  the  dreams  and  flowers  will  fade, 

The  visions  that  oft  to  worldly  eyes 

The  glitter  of  mines  unfold, 
Inhabit  the  mountain  herb,*  that  dyes 

The  tooth  of  the  fawn  like  gold. 
The  phantom  shapes — oh  touch  not  them— 

That  appal  the  murderer's  sight, 
Lurk  in  the  fleshy  mandrake's  stem, 

That  shrieks,  when  torn  at  night ! 
Then  hasten  we,  maid, 
To  twine  our  braid, 
To-morrow  the  dreams  and  flowers  will  fada. 

The  dream  of  the  injured  patient  mind 

That  smiles  at  the  wrongs  of  men, 
Is  found  in  the  bruis'd  and  wounded  rind 
Of  the  cinnamon,  sweetest  then  ! 
Then  hasten  we,  maid, 
To  twine  our  braid, 
To  morrow  the  dreams  and  flowers  will  fade. 

No  sooner  was  the  flowery  crown 

Plac'd  on  her  head,  than  sleep  came  down, 

Gently  as  nights  of  summer  fall 

*  An  herb  on  Mount  Libanus,  which  is  said  to  comma- 
nicale  a  yellow  golden  hue  to  the  J-eeth  of  the  goals  aad 
other  animals  that  graze  upon  it. 


THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  HAIUM.  253 

Upon  the  lids  of  NOURMAHAL, 
And,  suddenly,  a  tuneful  breeze, 
As  full  of  small,  rich  harmonies 
As  ever  wind,  that  o'er  the  tents 
Of  AZAB*  blew,  was  lull  of  scents, 
Steals  on  her  ear  and  floats  and  swell*?, 

Like  the  first  air  of  morning  creeping 
Into  those  wreathy  Red-Sea  shells, 

Where  Love  himself,  of  old,  lay  sleeping  :N- 
And  now  a  spirit  form'd  'twould  seem, 

Of  music  and  of  light,  so  fair, 
So  brilliantly  his  features  beam, 

And  such  a  sound  is  in  the  air 
Of  sweetness,  when  he  waves  his  wings 
Hovers  around  her,  and  thus  sings : — 


From  CmNDAKA'st  warbling  fount  I  come, 
CalPd  by  that  moonlight  garland's  spell ; 

From  CIIINDARA'S  fount,  my  fairy  home, 
Where  in  music,  morn  and  night,  I  dwell , 

Where  lutes  in  the  air  are  heard  about, 
And  voices  are  singing  the  whole  day  long, 


*  The  Myrrh  country. 

t  •'  This  idea  (of  deities  living  in  shell*)  was  not  un- 
known  to  the  Greeks,  who  represent  the  .young  Neritea, 
one  of  the  Cupids,  as  living  in  shells  on  the  shores  of  the 
Red-Sea.  "—Wilfard. 

J  "  A  fabulous  fountain,  where  instrument?  are  said  to 
he  constantly  playing  "-.-Ilichardscm 


254  THE  MGHT  OF  THE  HAKAM. 

And  every  sigh  the  heart  breathes  out 
Is  turn'd,  as  it  leaves  the  lips,  to  song ! 

Hither  I  come 

From  my  fairy  home, 
And  if  there's  a  magic  in  Music's  strain. 

I  swear  by  the  breath 

Of  that  moonlight  wreath, 
Thy  lover  shall  sigh  at  thy  feet  again. 

For  mine  is  the  lay  that  lightly  floats, 

And  mine  are  murmuring,  dying  notes, 

That  fall  as  soft  as  snow  on  the  sea, 

And  melt  in  the  heart  as  instantly  ! 

And  the  passionate  strain  that,  deeply  going, 

Refines  the  bosom  it  trembles  through^ 
As  the  musk-wind,  over  the  wa.ter  blowing 

Ruffles  the  wave,  but  sweetens  it  too  ! 

Mine  is  the  charm,  whose  mystic  sway 

The  Spirits  of  past  Delight  obey  ; 

Let  but  the  tuneful  talisman  sound, 

And  they  come,  like  Genii,  hovering  round. 

And  mine  is  the  gentle  song,  that  bears 

From  soul  to  soul,  the  wishes  of  love, 
As  a  bird,  that  wafts  through  genial  airs 

The  cinnamon  seed  from  grove  to  grove.* 


*"  The  Pompadour  pigeon  is  the  species,  which,  by 
tarrying  the  fruit  of  the  cinnamon  to  different  places,  ii 
a  great  disseminator  of  this  valuable  tree. "---See  JJrown'l 
lllustr.  Tab.  19. 


THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  HARAM.  253 

Tis  I  that  mingle  in  one  sweet  measure 
The  past,  the  present,  and  future  of  pleasure  ; 
When  Memory  links  the  tone  that  is  gone 

With  the  blissful  tone  that's  still  in  the  ear , 
And  Hope  from  a  heavenly  note  flies  on, 
To  a  note  move  heavenly  still  that  is  near  i 

The  warr.or's  heart,  when  touch'd  by  me, 
Can  as  downy  soft  and  as  yielding  be, 
As  his  own  white  plume,  that  high  amid  death 
Through  the  field  has  shone— yet  moves  with  a 

breath. 
And,  oh,  how  the  eyes  of  beauty  glisten, 

When  music  has  reach' d  her  inward  soul, 
Like  th'  silent  stars,  that  wink  and  listen 
While  heav'n's  eternal  melodies  roll ! 
So,  hither  I  come, 
From  my  fairy  home, 
And  if  there's  a  magic  in  Music's  strain, 
I  swear  by  the  breath 
Of  that  moonlight  wreath, 
Thy  lover  shall  sigh  at  thy  feet  again. 


'Tis  dawn— at  least  that  earlier  dawn, 
Whose  glimpses  are  again  withdrawn,* 
As  if  the  morn  had  wak'd,  and  then, 
Shut  close  her  lids  of  light  again. 

»  "They  have  two  mornings,  the  Soobhi  Kazim,  and 
<he  Soobhi  Sadip,  the  false  arid  the  real  daj-break".«- 
Faring. 


*6  THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  HA  RAM. 

And  NoURMAHAL  is  up,  and  trying 

The  wonders  of  her  lute,  whose  strings— 
Oh  bliss  ! — now  murmur  like  the  sighing 

From  that  ambrosial  Spirit's  wings  ! 
And  then  her  voice — 'tis  more  than  human— 
Never  till  now,  had  it  been  given 
To  lips  of  any  mortal  woman 

To  utter  notes  so  fresh  from  heaven ; 
Sweet  as  the  breath  of  angel  sighs, 

When  angel  sighs  are  most  divine. — 
;  Oh  !  let  it  last  till  night,"  she  cries, 

"  And  he  is  more  than  ever  mine." 
And  hourly  she  renews  the  lay, 

So  fearful  lest  its  heavenly  sweetness 
Should,  ere  the  evening  fade  away — 

For  things  so  heavenly  have  such  fieetness 
But,  far  from  fading,  it  but  grows    " 
Richer,  diviner  as  it  flows  ; 
Till  rapt  she  dwells  on  every  string, 

And  pours  again  each  sound  along. 
Like  echo,  lost  and  languishing 

In  love  with  her  own  wondrous  song. 
That  evening,  (trusting  that  his  soul 

Might  be  from  haunting  love  releas'd 
By  mirth  by  music,  and  the  bowl) 
Th'  Imperial  SELIM  held  a  Feast 
In  his  magnificent  Shalimar, 
In  whose  Saloons,  when  the  first  star 
Of  evening  o'er  the  waters  trembled. 
The  Valley's  loveliest  all  assembled  , 
<U1  the  bright  creatures  that  like  dreams 


TIJE  LIGHT  OF  THE  HA.HEM.  251 

Glide  through  its  foliage,  and  drink  beams 
Of  beauty  from  its  founts  and  streams,* 
And  all  those  wandering  minstrel  maids, 
Who  leave — how  can  they  leave  ? — the  shades 
Of  that  dear  valley  and  are  found 

Singing  in  gardens  of  the  Southt 
Those  songs,  that  ne'er  so  sweetly  sound 

As  from  a  young  Cashmerian's  rnouth ; 
There  too  the  Haram's  inmates  smile  ; 

Maids  from  the  West,  with  sun-bright  hair, 
And  from  the  Garden  of  the  NILE, 

Delicate  as  the  roses  there  ;t 
Daughters  of  Love  from  CYPRUS'  rocks, 
With  Paphian  diamonds  in  their  locks  ;$ 
Light  PERI  forms,  such  as  there  are 
On  the  gold  meads  of  CANBAHAR  ;ll 

*  "  The  waters  of  Cachemir  are  Ihe  most  rer/ovrned 
fiom  its  beins  supposed  that  the  Csichemirians  are  in- 
deb'ed  for  their  l>eau!y  to  them." 1!i  Yadi. 

I  «•  from  him  I  received  Ihe  following  Mule  Gazzel,  01 
f,<>ve  Song,  the  notes  of  which  he  committed  to  paper 
from  the  voice  of  one  of  those  singing  girls  of  Cachmere, 
irho  render  from  that  delightful  valley  over  the  varioui 
parts  of  India."---  Persian  Miscellanies. 

t  "  The  ros«-8  of  the  Jinan  Nile,  or  Garden  of  the  Nile, 
(attached  to  the  Emperor  of  Morocco's  palace)  are  un- 
equalled, and  niatresses  are  made  of  their  leaves  for  rrtSn 
of  rank  to  recline  upon  ---Jackson. 

$  "  On  the  side  of  a  mounia-in  near  Paphos  there  is  a 
cavern  which  produces  the  most  beautiful  rock  crystal. 
On  account  of  its  brilliancy  it  has  been  called  the  Faphain 
diamond  ."••  -Monti. 

\tg  There  is  part  of  Candahnr,  called  Peria  or  Fairy 
l#.nd."---Tf'cvcnot.  In  some  of  tho^e  countries  to  th« 

n 


258  THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  HAREM. 

And  they,  before  whose  sleepy  eyes, 

In  their  own  bright  Kathaian  bowers, 
Sparkle  such  rainbow  butterflies,* 

That  they  might  fancy  the  rich  flowery 
That,  round  them  in  the  sun  lay  sighing, 
Had  been  by  magic  all  set  flying  ! 

Every  thing  young,  every  thing  fair, 
From  East  and  West  is  blushing  there, 
Except — except — oh  NOURMAHAT,  ! 
Thou  loveliest,  dearest  of  them  all, 
The  one,  whose  smile  shone  out  alone, 
Amidst  a  world  the  only  one  ! 
Whose  light,  among  so  many  lights, 
Was  like  that  star,  on  starry  nights, 
The  seaman  singles  from  the  sky, 
To  steer  his  bark  for  ever  by  ! 
Thou  wert  not  there — so  SELI.M  thought, 

And  every  thing  seem'd  drear  without  thee 
But  ah  !  thou  wert,  thou  wert — and  brought 
Thy  charm  of  song  all  fresh  about  thce. 
Mingling  unnoticed  with  a  band 
Of  lutanists  from  many  a  land, 
And  veil'd  by. such  a  mask  as  shades 
The  features  of  yoi-  )g  Arab  maidst— 


Norlh  of  India,  :ge!able  gold  is  supposed  to  oe  pro 
duc-d. 

*  "  These  are  the  butterflies  which  are  called  Li  «b« 
Chinese  language  Flying  Leaves.  Some  of  them  haresucn 
•hining  colors,  and  are  so  variegated,  lhat  they  may  b« 
called  flying  flowers;  and  indeed  they  are  always  produce 4 
In  the  finest  flower-garden?. "--.Dunn. 

t  "  Tin  Arabian  women  weai  black   masks  with  \\lllt 


THE  LIGHT  OF  Tilt  flARAM  253 

A.  mask  vhat  leaves  but  one  eye  free, 

To  do  its  best  in  witchery — 

She  rov'd,  with  beating  heart,  around, 

And  waited  trembling  for  the  minute, 
When  she  might  try  if  still  the  sound 
Of  her  lov'd  lute  had  magic  in  it. 
The  board  was  spread  with  fruits  and  wine  ; 
With  grapes  of  gold  like  those  that  shine 
On  CASEIN'S  hills  ;* — pomegranates  full 

Of  melting  sweetness,  and  the  pears 
And  sunniest  apples  that  CAUBULt 

In  all  its  thousand  gardens^  bears. 
Plaintains,  the  golden  and  the  green, 
MALAYA'S  ncctar'd  mangusteen  ;$ 
Prunes  of  BOKARA,  and  sweet  nuts 
From  the  far  groves  of  SAMARKAND  ; 
And  BASRA  dates,  and  apricots, 
Seed  of  the  Sun,||  from  IRAN'S  land  ;— 


clasps  prettily  ordered. "•••Carreri.  Niebuhr  mention! 
their  showing  but  one  eye  in  conversation. 

•"The  golden  grapes  of  Casbin."--- Description  *f 
Persia. 

{"  The  fruits  exported  fiom  Ciubtil  are  apples,  peart, 
pomegranates,  ele."-"Btphiivtt*tg. 

J"  We  sat  down  under  a  tree,  listened  to  tbe  birds,  and 
talked  with  the  son  of  our  Mehmaunder  about,  our  coun- 
try and  Caubul,  of  which  he  gave  an  enchanting  account ; 
that  city  and  its  100,000  gardens,  etc."--  Jd. 

$  "  The  mangusteen,  the  most  delicate  fruit  in  ih« 
r-rlJ  ;  the  pride  of  the  Malay  Islands. %'..-Marsden.. 

fl  "  A  delicious  kind  of  apricot,  called  by  the  Persian! 
tokm-ed  shems,  signifying  sun's  seed."--- /tamp/ton  o/ 
I'ertia. 


260  -HE  LIGHT  OF  THE  HAREM. 

With  rich  conserve  of  Visna  cherries,* 
Of  orange  flowers,  and  of  those  berries 
That  wild  and  fresh,  the  young  gazelles 
Feed  on  in  ERAC'S  rocky  dells.t 
All  these  in  rich  vases  smile, 

In  baskets  of  pure  sandal- wood, 
And  urns  of  porcelain  from  that  islet 

Sunk  underneath  the  Indian  flood, 
Whence  oft  the  lucky  diver  brings 
Vases  to  grace  the  halls  of  kings. 
Wines  too,  of  every  clime  and  hue, 
Around  their  liquid  lustre  threw; 
Amber  Rosolli  II — the  bright  dew 
From  vineyards  of  the  Green-Sea  gushing  $ 
And  SKIRAZ  wine,  that  richly  ran 

As  if  that  jewel,  large  and  rare, 
The  ruby,  for  which  OLJBLAI-CHAN 

Ofler'd  a  city's  wealth, IT  was  blushing 

Melted  within  the  goblets  there  ! 


*  "  Sweetmeats  in  a  ehrystal  cup,  consisting  of  ro«« 
leaves  in  conserve,  with  lemon  or  Vi&ia  cherry,  orangn 
flowers,  etc  "---Jtussrl. 

f"  Antelopes  cropping  the  fresh  berries  of  Erac."--- 
Tfte  Moallakat,  a  poem  of  Tarafa. 

\  Mauri-ga-Sima,  an  island  near  Formosa, supposed  to 
have  been  sunk  in  the  sea  for  the  crimes  of  its  inhabitant*. 
The  vessels  which  the  fisherman  and  divers  bring  up  from 
It  are  sold  at  an  immense  price  in  China  and  Japan. --See 


ersian  Tales.  ')  The  white  wine  of  Kishmn. 

•H"  The  King  of  Zeilan  is  said  io  have  the  very  finest 
ruby  that  vjas  ever  st'en,  Kublgi-Khan  sent  and  offered 


THE  UuHT  OF  THE  HA  HEM.  26 

And  amply  SELIM  quaffs  of  each, 

And  seems  resolv'd  the  floods  shall  reach 

His  inward  heart — shedding  around 

A  genial  deluge,  as  they  run, 
That  soon  shall  leave  no  spot  undrown'd. 

For  Love  to  rest  his  wings  upon. 

lie  little  knew  how  well  the  boy 

Can  float  upon  a  goblet's  streams, 
Lighting  them  with  his  smile  of  joy ; — • 

As  bards  have  seen  him,  in  jheir  dreams 
Down  the  blue  GANGES  laughing  glide 

Upon  a  rosy  lotus  wreath,* 
Catching  new  lustre  from  the  tide 

That  with  his  image  shone  beneath. 
But  what  are  cups;  without  the  aid 

Of  songs  to  speed  them  as  they  flow  ? 
And  see — a  lovely  Georgian  maid, 

With  all  the  bloom,  the  freshen'd  glow 
+    Of  her  own  country  maidens'  looks, 

When  warm  they  rise  from  TEFLIS'  brooks  ;t 
And  with  an  eye,  whose  restless  ray, 

Full,  floating,  dark— oh  he,  who  knows    . 
His  heart  is  weak,  ofheav'n  should  pray, 


the  value  of  a  cily  for  it.  but  the  King  answered  he  wonla 
not  give  it  for  the  treasure  of  the  world. "—-Marco  Polo. 

*  The  Indians  feign  that  Cupid  was  first  seen  floatinf 
down  ths  Ganges  on '.he 'Nymphaea  Nelumbo — See  Pen 
nant 

f'lVflis  iseebbrs.ed  forks  natural  warm  baths. ---Set 
Ebn  llaukal 


THE  LIGHr  OF  THE  HAREM. 


To  guard  him  from  such  eyes  as  those  '• 
With  a  voluptuous  wildness  flings 
Her  snow  hand  across  the  strings 
Of  a  syrinda,*  and  thus  sings  : 


Come  hither,  come  hither — by  night  and  by  day 
We  linger  in  pleasures  that  never  are  gone  ; 

Like  the  waves  of  the  summer,  as  one  dies  away 
Another  as  sweet  and  as  shining  comes  on. 

And  the  love  that  is  o'er,  in  expiring  gives  birth 
To  a  new  one  as  warm,  as  unequall'd  in  bliss  ; 

And  oh  !  if  there  be  an  Elysium  on  earth, 
It  is  this,  it  is  this. 

Here  maidens  are   dghing,  and  fragrant  their 

sigh 
As  the  flower  of  the  Amra  just  op'd  by  a 

bee  ;t 
And  precious  their  tears  as  that  rain  from  the 

sky.t 

Which  turns  into  pearls  as  it  falls  in  the  sea. 
Oh !  think  what  the  kiss  and  smile  must  be 
worth, 

*  "  The  Indian  Sjrinda  or  guitar. ".--Syines. 

t "  Delightful  sfre  Ihe  flowers  of  tne  .Amra-trees  on  the 
mountain  tops,  while  the  murmuring  bees  pursue  theii 
rolnptuous  toil  "---Song  of  Jayadeva. 

I  "  The  Nisan,  or  drops  of  spring  rain,  which  they  be 
Here  to  produce  pearls  if  they  fall"  into  shells.*'-  --JRidt 
ttrdson 


THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  I1ARE.M.  263       „ 

When  the  siMi  and  the  tear  are  so  perfect  in 

bliss, 

And  own,  if  there  be  an  Elysium  on  earth, 
It  is  this,  it  is  this. 

Here  sparkles  the  nectar,  that  hallow' d  by  love, 
Could  draw  down  those  angels  of  old  from 

their  sphere, 
Who  for  wine  of  this  earth*  left  the  fountains 

above, 
And  forgot  heaven's  stars  for  the  eyes  we  have 

here. 

And  bless'd  with  the  odor  our  goblets  give  forth, 
What  Spirit  the  sweets  of  his  Eden  would 

miss? 

For  oh  !  if  there  be  an  Elysium  on  earth, 
It  is  this,  it  is  this.    ' 

The  Georgian's  song  was  scarcely  mute, 

When  the  same  measure,  sound  for  sound. 
Was  caught  up  a  another'lute, 

And  so  divinely  breath'd  around, 
That  all  stood  hush'd  and  wondering, 

And  turn'd  and  look'd  into  the  air, 
As  if  they  thought  to  see  the  wing 

Of  IsRAFiL.t  the  Angel,  there  ;-~ 
So  powerfully  on  every  soul 


*  For  an  account  of  the  share  which  wine  had  in  the  faf 
if  the  angels--- see  Ma'iti 
t  The  Angel  of  mue'c. 


<J&4  THE  LIGflT  OF  TI  E  HAKE^J. 

That  new,  enchanted  measure  stole. 
While  now  a  voice,  sweet  as  the  note 
Ol  thu  charm' d  lute,  was  heard  to  float 
Along  its  chords,  and  so  entwine 

Its  sound  with  theirs,  that  none  knew  whethe? 
The  voice  or  lute  was  most  divine, 

So  wond'rously  they  went  together: 


There's  a  bliss  beyond  all  that  the  minstrel  has 

told, 
When  two,  that  are  link'd  in  one  heavenly 

tie, 
With  heart  never  changing    and  brow  never 

cold, 
Love  on  through  all  ills,  and  love  on  till  they 

die  ! 
One  hour  of  a  passion  so  sacred  is  worth 

Whole  ages  of  heartless  and  wandering  bilsa  [ 
And  oh !  if  there  be  an  Elysium  on  earth, 
It  is  this,  it  is  this. 


'Twas  not  the  air,  'twas  not  the  wordi, 
But  that  deep  magic  in  the  chords 
And  in  the  lips,  that  gave  such  power 
As  music  knew  not  till  that  hour. 
At  once  a  hundred  voices  said, 
'•  It  is  the  mask'd  Arabian  maid  !" 
While  SELIM,  who  had  felt  tho  strain 


THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  IURKK.  263 

Deepest  of  any,  and  had  lain 
Some  minutes  wrapt,  as  in  a  trance, 

Alter  the  fairy  sounds  were  o'er, 
Too  inly  touch'd  for  utterance, 

Now  motion'd  with  his  hand  for  more  :— 


Fly  to  the  desert,  fly  with  me, 
Our  Arab  tents  are  rude  lor  thee  ; 
But  oh !  the  choice  what  heart  can  doubt 
Of  tents  with  love,  or  thrones  without? 

Our  rocks  are  rough,  but  smiling  there 
Th'  acacia  waves  her  yelicw  hair, 
Lonely  ami  sweet,  nor  lov'd  the  less  • 
For  flowering  in  a  wilderness. 

Our  sands  are  bare,  but  down  their  slope 
The  silvery-footed  antelope 
As  gracefully  and  gaily  springs 
As  o'er  the  marble  courts  of  kings. 

Then  come — thy  Arab  maid  will  be 
The  lov'd  and  lone  acacia-tree, 
The  antelepe,  whose  feet  shall  bless 
With  their  light  sound  thy  loneliness. 

Oh  !  there  are  looks  and  tones  that  dart 
An  instant  sunshine  through  the  heart- 
As  if  the  soul  that  minute  caught 
Some  treasure  it  through  life  had  sought , 


266  THE  LIGHT  Oi   THE  HAREM. 

As  if  the  very  lips  and  eyes 
Predestin'd  to  have  all  our  sighs, 
And  never  be  forgot  again, 
Sparkled  and  spoke  before  us  then  ! 

So  came  thy  every  glance  and  '.one, 
When  first,  on  me  they  breathd  and  shon»  t 
New,  as  if  brought  from  other  spheres. 
Yet  welcome  as  if  lov'd  for  years  ! 

Then  fly  with  me — if  thou  hast  kno'vn 
No  other  flame,  nor  falsely  thrown 
A  gem  away  that  thou  hadst  sworn 
Should  ever  in  thy  heart  be  worn. 

Come,  if  the  love  thou  hast  for  me 
Is  pure  and  fresh  as  mine  for  thee — 
Fresh  as  the  fountain  under  ground 
When  first  'tis  by  the  lapwing  found.* 

But  if  for  me  thou  dost  forsake 
Some  other  maid  and  rudely  break 
Her  worshipp'd  image  from  its  base, 
To  give  to  me  the  ruin'd  place  ; 

Then  fare  thee  well— *I'd  rather  make 
My  bower  upon  some  icy  lake 
When  thawing  suns  begin  to  shine, 
Than  trust  to  love  so  false  as  thine  ! 

*The  Hudhud  or  Lapwing,  is  supposed  to  ha?«  th« 
po'ver  of  discovering  '.vater  underground. 


THE  LIGHT  OK  THE  11HKEM.  267 

There  was  a  pathos  in  this  lay, 

That,  e'er,  without  enchantment's  an 
Would  instantly  have  found  its  way 

Deep  into  SELIM'S  burning  heart ; 
But  breathing,  as  it  did,  a  tone 
To  earthly  lutes  and  lips  unknown, 
With  every  cord  fresh  from  the  touch 
Of  Music's  Spirit  'twas  too  much! 
Starting,  he  dash'd  away  the  cup — 

Which,  all  the  time  of  this  sweet  air 
His  hand  had  held,  untastcd,  up, 

As  if  'twere  held  by  magic  there — 
And  naming  her,  so  long  unnam'd, 

"  Oh  NOURMAHAL  !    oil   NOURMAHAL  ! 

Hadst  thou  but  sung  this  witching  strain, 
I  could  forget— forgive  thee  all, 
And  never  leave  those  eyes  again." 

The  mask  is  oft—the  charm  is  wrought 
And  SELIM  to  his  heart  has  caught, 
In  blushes,  more  than  ever  bright, 
His  NOURMAHAL,  his  Harem's  Light ! 
And  well  do  vanish'd  frowns  enhance 
Tke  charm  of  every  brighten' d  glance ; 
And  dearer  seems  each  dawning  smile 
For  having  lost  its  light  awhile  ; 
And,  happier  now  for  all  her  sighs, 

As  on  his  arm  her  head  reposes, 
She  whispers  him,  with  laughing  eyes, 

"  Remember,  love,  the  Feast  of  Ros*i!' 


268  LALLA    KOOK11. 

FADLADEEN,  at  the  conclusion  ot  this  light 
hapsody,took  occasion  to  sum  up  his  opinion  of 
the  young  Cashmerian's  poetry — of  which,  he 
trusted,  they  .iad  that  evening  heard  the  last. 
Having  recapitulated  the  epithets,  "  frivolous" — 
"  inharmonious" — nonsensical,"  he  proceeded 
to  say  that, "vie wing  it  in  the  most  favorable  light, 
it  resembled  one  of  those  Maldivian  boats,  to 
which  the  Princess  had  alluded  in  the  relation  o) 
her  dream — a  slight,  gilded  thing,  sent  adrifi 
without  rudder  or  ballast,  and  with  nothing  but 
vapid  sweets  and  faded  flowers  on  board.  The 
profusion,  indeed,  of  flowers  and  birds,  which 
this  poet  had  ready  on  all  occasions — not  to  men- 
tion dews,  gems,  etc. — was  a  most  oppressive 
kind  of  opulence  to  his  hearers :  and  had  the  un- 
lucky effect  of  giving  to  his  style  all  the  glitter  of 
the  flower-garden  without  its  method,  and  all 
the  flutter  of  the  aviary  without  its  song.  In  ad- 
dition to  this,  he  chose  his  subjects  badly,  and 
was  always  most  inspired  by  the  worst  parts  of 
them.  The  charms  of  paganism,  the  merits  of 
rebellion — these  were  the  themes  honored  \vith 
his  particular  enthusiasm  ;  and,  in  the  poem  just 
recited,  one  of  his  most  palatable  passages  was 
in  praise  of  that  beverage  of  the  unfaithful,  wine  ; 
"  being  perhaps,"  said  he,  relaxing  Lato  a  smile, 
as  conscious  of  his  own  character  in  the  Harem 
on  this  point,  "  one  of  those  birds,  whose  fancy 
owes  all  its  illumination  to  the  grape,  like  that 
painted  porcelain,  so  curious  and  so  rare,  whose 


AN  ORIENTAL,  ROiU  NCi.  269 

images  arc  only  visible  when  liquor  is  poured 
into  it."  Upon  the  whole,  it  was  his  ooinion, 
Qrom  the  specimens  which  they  had  heard,  and 
^hich,  he  begged  to  say,  were  the  most  tiresome 
part  of  the  journey,  that — whatever  other  merits 
this  well  dressed  young  gentleman  might  pos- 
sess— poetry  was  by  no  means  his  proper  avoca- 
tion :  "andindeed,"  concluded  the  critic,  "from 
his  fondness  for  flowers  and  for  birds,  I  would 
venture  to  suggest  that  a  florist  or  a  bird-catcher 
is  a  much  more  suitable  calling  for  him  than  a 
poet." 

They  had  now  begun  to  ascend  those  barren 
mountains,  which  separate  Cashmere  from  the 
rest  of  India ;  and,  as  the  heats  were  intolerable, 
and  the  time  of  their  encampments  limited  to  the 
few  hours  necessary  for  refreshment  and  repose, 
there  was  an  end  to  all  their  delightful  evenings, 
and  LALLA  ROOKH  saw  no  more  of  FERAMORZ. 
She  now  felt  that  her  short  dream  of  happiness 
was  over,  and  that  she  had  nothing  but  the  re- 
collection of  its  few  blissful  hours,  like  the  one 
draught  of  sweet  water  that  serves  the-  camel 
across  the  wilderness,  to  be  her  heart's  refresh- 
ment during  the  dreary  waste  of  life  that  was  be- 
fore her.  The  blight  that  had  fallen  upon  her 
spirits  soon  found  its  way  to  her  cheek,  and  her 
ladies  saw  with  regret — though  not  without  some 
suspicion  of  the  cause — that  the  beauty  of  their 
mistress,  of  which  they  were  almost  as  proud  aa 
of  their  own,  was  fast  *  -mushing  away  ai  the 


870  LALLA  ROOKH. 

very  moment  of  all  when  she  had  most  need  of 
it.  What  must  the  King  of  Bucharia  feel,  when, 
instead  of  the  lively  and  beautiful  LALLA  ROOKH, 
whom  the  poets  of  Delhi  had  described  as  more 
perfect  than  the  divinest  images  in  the  House  of 
Azor,  he  should  receive  a  pale  and  inanimate 
victim,  upon  whose  cheek  neither  health  nor 
pleasure  bloomed,  and  from  whose  eyes  Love 
had  fled — to  hide  himself  in  her  heart ! 

If  an)'  thing  could  have  charmed  away  the 
melancholy  of  her  spirits,  it  would  have  been 
the  fresh  airs  and  enchanting  scenery  of  that 
Valley,  which  the  Persians  so  justly  called  the 
Unequalled.*  But  neither  the  coolness  of  its  at- 
mosphere, so  luxurious  after  toiling  up  those 
bare  and  burning  mountains — neither  the  splen- 
dor of  the  minarets  and  pagodas,  that  shone  out 
from  the  depth  of  its  woods,  nor  the  grottos,  her- 
mitages, and  miraculous  fountains,  which  make 
e  fery  spot  of  that  region  holy  ground ; — neither 
the  countless  water-falls,  that  rush  into  the  Val 
ley  from  all  those  high  and  romantic  mountains 
that  encircle  it,  nor  the  fair  city  on  the  Lake, 
whose  houses,  roofed  with  flowers,  appeared  at 
a  distance  like  one  vast  and  variegated  parterre  ; 
not  all  these  wonders  and  glories  of  the  most 
lovely  country  under  the  sun  could  steal  her 
heart  for  a  minute  from  those  sad  thoughts, 


*  Kuchmire  be  Nazeer.-.-Forster 


AN  ORIENTAL  ROMANCE.  ?71 

which  hut  darkc  led  and  grew  bit'cr  every  step 
ehe  advanced. 

The  gay  pomps  and  processions  that  met  her 
upon  her  entrance  into  the  Valley,  and  the  mag 
nificence  with  which  the  roads  all  along  were 
decorated,  did  honor  to  the  taste  and  gallantry  oi 
the  young  King.  It  was  night  when  they  ap- 
proached the  city,  and,  for  the  >ast  two  miles, 
they  had  passed  under  arches,  thrown  from 
hedge  to  hedge,  festooned  with  only  those  rarest 
roses  from  which  the  Attar  Gul,  more  precious 
than  gold  is  distilled,  and  illuminated  in  rich  and 
fanciful  forms  with  lanterns  of  the  triple-colored 
tortoise-shell  of  Pegu.  Sometimes,  from  a  dark 
wood  by  the  side  of  the  road,  a  display  of  fire- 
works would  break  out,  so  sudden  and  so  brilliant, 
that  a  Bramin  might  think  he  saw  that  grove,  in 
whose  purple  shade  the  God  of  Battles  was 
born,  bursting  into  a  flame  at  the  moment  of  his 
birth. — While,  at  other  times,  a  quick  and  play- 
ful irradiation  continued  to  brighten  all  the  fields 
and  gardens  by  which  they  passed,  forming  a 
line  of  dancing  lights  along  the  horizon  ;  like  the 
meteors  of  the  north  as  they  arc  seen  by  those 
hunters,  who  pursue  the  white  and  blue  foxes  on 
the  confines  of  the  Icy  Sea. 

These  arches  and  fire-works  delighted  the 
ladies  of  the  Princess  exceedingly  :  and,  with 
their  usual  good  logic,  they  deduced  from  his 
taste  for  illuminations,  that  the  King  of  Bucharia 
r-'culd  make  the  moat  exemplary  husband  imagi- 


272  LA.LLA  ROOKtt. 

nable.  Nov,  indeed,  could  LALLA  ROOKII  herselt 
help  feeling  the  kindness  and  splendor  with 
which  the  young  bridegroom  welcomed  her  :-— 
but  she  also  fek  how  painful  is  the  gratitude 
which  kindness  from  those  we  cannot  love  eX- 
cites ;  and  that  their  best  blandishments  come 
over  the  heart  with  all  that  chilling  and  deadly 
sweetness,  which  we  can  fancy  in  the  cold 
odoriferous  wind  that  is  to  blow  over  the  eartr 
in  the  last  days. 

The  marriage  was  fixed  for  the  morning  after 
her  arrival,  when  she  was,  for  the  first  time,  te 
be  presented  to  the  monarch  in  that  Imperial 
Palace  beyond  the  lake,  called  the  Shalimar. 
Though  a  night  of  more  wakeful  and  anxious 
thought  had  never  been  passed  in  the  Happy 
Valley  before,  yet,  when  she  arose  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  her  ladies  came  round  her,  to  assist  in 
the  adjustment  of  the  bridal  ornaments,  they 
thought  they  had  never  seen  her  look  half  so 
beautiful.  What  she  had  lost  of  the  bloom  and 
radiancy  of  her  charms  was  more  than  made  up 
by  that  intellectual  expression,  that  soul  in  the 
eyes  which  is  worth  all  the  rest  of  loveliness. 
When  they  had  tinged  her  fingers  with  the  Hen- 
na leaf,  and  placed  upon  her  brow  a  small  coro- 
net of  jewels,  of  the  shape  worn  by  the  ancient 
Queens  of  Bucharia,  they  flung  over  her  head 
the  rose-colored  bridal  veil,  and  she  proceeded 
to  the  barge  that  was  to  convey  her  across  the 
lake; — first  kissing,  with  a  mournful  look,  tho 


Alf  ORIENTAL  ROMANCE.  273 

little  amulet  of  cornelian  which  her  father  had 
hung  about -her  neck  at  parting. 

The  morning  was  as  fair  as  the  maid  upon 
whose  nuptials  it  rose,  and  the  shining  lake,  all 
covered  with  boats,  the  minstrels  playing  upon 
the  shores  of  the  islands,  and  the  crowded  sum- 
mer-houses on  the  green  hiils  around,  with 
fehawls  and  banners  waving  from  their  roofs, 
presented  such  a  picture  of  animated  rejoicing, 
as  only  she,  who  was  the  object  of  it  all,  did  not 
feel  with  transport.  To  LALLA  ROOKH  alone  it 
was  a  melancholy  pageant ;  nor  could  she  have 
ever  borne  to  look  upon  the  scene,  were  it  not 
For  a  hope  that,  among  the  crowds  around,  she 
might  once  more,  perhaps,  catch  a  glimpse  of 
FERAMORZ.  So  much  was  her  imagination 
haunted  by  this  thought,  that  there  was  scarcely 
an  islet  or  boaf  she  passed,  at  which  her  heart 
did  not  flutter  with  a  momentary  fancy  that  he 
was  there.  Happy,  in  her  eyes,  the  humblest 
slave  upon  whom  the  light  of  his  dear  looks  felL 
In  the  barge  immediately  after  the  Princess  was 
FADLADEEN,  with  his  silken  curtains  thrown 
widely  apart,  that  all  might  have  the  benefit  of 
his  august  presence,  and  with  his  head  full  of 
the  speech  he  was  to  deliver  to  the  King,  "  con- 
cerning FERAMOR/M  and  literature,  and  the  Cha- 
buk,  as  connected  therewith." 

They  had  now  entered  the  canal  which  leads 
from  the  Lake  to  the  splendid  domes  and  saloons 
of  the  Shalimar,  and  glided  or.  through  garden1* 
10 


274  LA  LI,  A  ROOKH, 

ascending  from  each  bank,  fuil  of  flowering 
shrubs  that  made  the  air  all  perfume  ;  while 
from  the  middle  of  the  canal  rose  jets  of  water, 
smooth  and  unbroken,  to  such  a  dazzling  height, 
that  they  stood  like  pillars  of  diamond  in  the 
sunshine.  After  sailing  under  the  arches  of 
various  saloons,  they  at  length  arrived  at  the  last 
and  most  magnificent,  where  the  monarch 
awaited  the  coming  of  his  bride  ;  and  such  was 
the  agitation  of  her  heart  and  frame,  that  it  was 
"with  difficulty  she  walked  up  the  marble  steps, 
which  were  covered  with  cloth  of  gold  for  her 
ascent  from  the  barge.  At  the  end  of  the  hall 
stood  two  thrones,  as  precious  as  the  Cerulean 
Throne  of  Koolburga,  on  one  of  which  sat  ALI 
RIS,  the  youthful  King  of  Bucharia,  and  on  the 
other  was,  in  a  few  minutes,  to  be  placed  the 
most  beautiful  Princess  in  the  wofid.  Immedi- 
ately upon  the  entrance  of  LALLA  ROOKH  into 
the  saloon,  the  monarch  descended  from  his 
throne  to  meet  her  ;  but  scarcely  had  he  time  to 
take  her  hand  in  hi?,  when  she  screamed  with 
surprise,  and  fainted  at  his  feet.  It  was  FERA- 
MORZ  himself  that  stood  before  her  ! — FERAMGRX 
was,  himself,  the  Sovereign  of  Bucharia,  who  in 
this  disguise  had  accompanied  his  young  brido 
from  Delhi,  and,  having  won  her  »ove  as  an 
humble  minstrel,  now  amply  deserved  to  enjoy 
it  as  a  King. 

The  consternation  of  FADLADEEN  at  thi*  dia- 
'•ov«rv  'vas,  for  the  moment,  almost  pitiable. 


AN  ORIENTAL  ROMANCE.  275 

But  change  of  opinion  is  a  resource  too  conve- 
nient in  courts  lor  this  experienced  courtier  not  to 
have  learned  to  avail  himself  of  it.  His  criticisms 
were  all,  of  course,  recanted  instantly  ;  he  was 
ciezcd  with  an  admiration  of  the  King's  verses, 
as  unbounded,  as,  he  begged  him  to  believe,  it 
was  disinterested  ;  and  the  following  week  saw 
him  in  possession  of  an  additional  place,  swear- 
ing by  all  the  Saints  of  Islam  that  never  had 
there  existed  so  great  a  poet  as  tho  Monarch, 
ALIRIS,  and  ready  to  prescribe  his  favorite  regi- 
men of  the  Chabuk  for  every  man,  woman,  and 
child  that  dared  to  think  otherwise. 

Of  the  happiness  of  the  King  and  Queen  ol 
Bucharia,  after  such  a  beginning,  there  can  be 
but  little  doubt ;  and,  among  the  lesser  symptoms, 
it  is'recorded  of  LALLA  ROOKH,  that  to  the  day 
of  her  death,  in  memory  of  their  delightful 
journey,  she  never  called  the  King  by  any  otitot 
thai:  F£K\>toaz. 


^ 


>  >  >•>> 

>  :>  >  2>» 

?? 

>  >-)! 

O'OmX- 


>x>  >.®SI 


